The Loud House Catch-All Drawer
by Flagg1991
Summary: Every house has one: A drawer where all the odds and ends wind up. This is the Loud family's. Collection of one shots. Some are horror, some are romance, some are smut, some contain Loudcest, some are funny, some are dark. Cover by Raganoxer.
1. Last Day of School

It was June 11. The last day of fifth grade. Lincoln Loud woke in a bar of golden sunshine and smiled. He had been waiting for this day for six months.

Getting up, he stretched, went into the bathroom, and brushed his teeth. He was still smiling when he came out to find Lori waiting. "About time," he said, pushing past him.

"Love you too, sis," he said.

In his room, he dressed in a pair of jeans and an orange polo shirt. He took something from under his mattress and slipped it into his backpack. Downstairs, his sisters were gathered at the dining room table, slopping breakfast into the mouths. He went into the kitchen, grabbed an apple, and took a big bite. It was tart, juicy. He ate it to the core and threw it into the trashcan. He went back into the dining room, sat, and enjoyed his sisters' company. He was going to miss them.

When breakfast was over, the younger kids piled into the van with Lori while the older ones walked. Lincoln moved at an easy pace, his thumbs hooked through the straps of his backpack. He looked around at the glotious summer day. The sun was bright, the sky was blue, the trees were green. He inhaled deeply, the air redolent of flowers. Ah. He was going to miss this too.

"You excited for summer?" Luan asked, matching his stride, her books pressed to her chest.

"Yeah," Lincoln said, "I've been looking forward to today for a long time."

Luan nodded. The past school year had been hard on Lincoln. A lot of kids picked on him and sometimes he came home crying. His only friend in the world was Clyde McBride, who caught just as much hell as Lincoln himself did. Luan's heart went out to her little brother. She knew what it was like to be teased. For her, fourth and fifth grade was a living nightmare.

"Maybe we can do something later," she offered.

"Maybe," he said.

They parted at the corner of Main and State, Luan and the others going west to Royal Woods Middle, and Lincoln east to Royal Woods Elementary. "See ya, Linc!" Luan called, and Lincoln waved, a smile on his face.

For a time, Lincoln walked alone. At one point a gang of boys came up behind him, one yanking down his pants. "Nice panties, Loud!" one cried maliciously, the others laughing.

"Good one, guys!" Lincoln said earnestly, pulling up his pants.

Where did he all go wrong, he wondered as he walked. Fourth grade was fine, but fifth grade? Fifth grade was _hell_. It's like as soon as he transitioned grades, his world went to shit and everyone except Clyde (and his sisters) had it out for him. This is why he became clingier at home, going out of his way to help his sisters and make them happy: If they deserted him too, he would be entirely alone.

Of course, that was coming at some point. He could _feel_ it.

Ten minutes before the first bell rang, Lincoln walked up to the front doors of Royal Woods Elementary. Clyde was sitting on the steps, his head down. Kids streamed inside, some of them looking down at him and talking shit. Clyde ignored them. When he looked up and saw Lincoln, he smiled, got up, and came over. "Hey, buddy," Clyde said, "you ready?"

"I sure am," Lincoln said, reaching into his backpack and bringing out the handgun. "You?

Clyde removed the Uzi from his own backpack and grinned. "Let's do this."

They went inside and started shooting.


	2. Stroking It

Lincoln Loud got home from school, rushed up the stairs, and slammed his door, tossing his backpack aside and kicking out of his shoes. He was panting and sweaty from the long run.

He sat on his bed, leaned over, and took out a wadded pair of underwear. He laid back, unzipped his jeans, and pulled them down, his raging erection popping out like a pink, meaty Jack-in-the-box. He was already leaking, a bead of precum snaking down his length toward the tangled mess of his pubic hair. For a moment he simply looked at it, twitching and pulsing, a look of frustration on his face. Since starting puberty, this _thing_ had become the bane of his existence, clouding his mind and growing awkwardly at the faintest breath. He hated it.

Sighing, he wrapped his hand around it and slowly stroked it. He was close. Just a few...

The door opened and Luan popped in. "Hey, Linc, can...?" she trailed off, her jaw dropping. Lincoln's heart rocketed into his throat and he sat up, trying desperately to cover himself.

"Get out!" he yelled.

Luan stayed where she was, her jaw still slack. Then a tiny grin spread across her face. It was a mischievous, elfin look that Lincoln was all too familiar with.

"Please don't tell anyone!" he cried, pressing his hands against still-throbbing penis. "They'll make fun of me. Please!"

She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. Lincoln's brows furrowed. "What are you doing?"

She thumbed the lock, which further confused him. "I came to ask you to listen to my new routine, but I see you have your hands full." She strutted over, her head slightly cocked and her eyes narrowed. Lincoln hated himself for getting even harder.

"I-I-I" he stammered, but she knelt on the bed before him and pressed her index finger to his lips.

"Don't worry, Linc," she said, "I do it too."

Lincoln blinked. "You do?"

Biting her lip, she nodded. "Every day, though _I_ usually do it in the shower. The hot water really turns me on."

She looked down at his lap, where his hands squirmed. "Can I see it?" she asked.

Lincoln gulped. "W-Why?"

"Because it's nice." She looked up at him, a strange look in her eyes. "It's okay, Linc. If it'll make you feel any better, I'll show you mine."

Heart pounding, he nodded, and slowly removed his hands, letting his penis stand free; he shivered at the knowledge that it was bared in front of a girl...even if she was his sister. Her eyes widened. "Wow. It's really nice."

She reached out and took it in her hand. Lincoln jumped, each and every nerve ending in his body crackling with electricity. Luan was starting to breathe heavy; she sounded excited, and it made him _even more_ excited. She slowly massaged the shaft with her nimble fingers, pressing firmly against it. Lincoln drew a sharp intake of breath and his eyelids fluttered.

"It's so _warm_ ," she marveled. "And smooth." She looked up at him, increasing her speed. "I like it."

Lincoln licked his lips, they were dry. She was going faster now, faster. He felt lightheaded. "Luan..."

She squeezed, and Lincoln's body twitched: His penis swelled and erupted, long ribbons of hot cum shooting out and splattering her shirt. Her eyes widened even more, and her lips parted, a look of wonder on her face. Lincoln grabbed the sheets and bared his teeth as he pumped, the entire world quaking around him.

"Well, that was a _bust,_ " she said huskily, and slightly out of breath. She looked into his eyes, her hand still wrapped around his member. "I didn't get off."

"I-I..."

She smiled. "That's okay. You can give me a _hand_ later."

Panting, Lincoln nodded and smiled, "I'd love to."


	3. Phantoms

My name is Lisa Loud and I write this, my final testament, through a gathering fog, my mind slowly deteriorating as trans dimensional radiation (if radiation it is) eats away at the soft, pulpy gray matter of my brain. I would take cyanide and die in a corner, but I figure I owe the world an explanation...if it survives.

It started several months ago. On a blustery January day, I began a series of experiments in relation to interdimensional travel, as I had developed the hypothesis that there are more realities than this. By February, I had a machine I believed would move between realms. I cannot for the life of me remember how I constructed it or even how it worked: The memory is hazy. I do remember it exploding before I could use it. It tore a hole in my wall and, I found later, a hole in the space-time continuum as well.

The first indication I had that something was wrong was the pervasive sense of being watched. No matter where I went in the house, the back of my neck tingled as though I was being secretly observed by creatures I could not see. The second was the advent of seemingly ghostly happening. Bumps in the night, hollow moans drifting through the hall, things being laid in one spot and found in another. My siblings began to complain of headaches and nightmares, Lincoln being particularly hard hit; he suffered nightly bouts of nocturnal terror, coming awake screaming and covered in sweat. Luan eventually began to report blackouts, and several times I observed her acting strangely, wandering the house with a dazed look in her eyes. I got the impression that she was looking for something. If spoken to during these fugues, she would simply stare at you, a quiet look of disgust crossing her face, as though she found you a distasteful construct. Lynn became more aggressive. By the beginning of March, she would snap at the slightest provocation. At times she would rage through the house, crying out in wordless fury and striking things.

Lincoln devolved into a gibbering mess by the middle of the month, screaming and rambling about things touching him at night.

The only one completely unaffected throuout this time was Leni. I believe it has something to do with the make-up of her mind. It is simply this: Her feeble-mindedness had somehow insulated her against their attacks.

During this period, I struggled with the bizarre things occurring around me, at first believing there to be a logical explanation. The dark, oppressive dread hanging in the air, the leaden atmosphere, the way you could scarcely draw a breath in the house...infrasound, said I, or something else.

I began to believe on the night of March 28, when, while on my way to the lavatory, I observed a translucent black mass emerge from the wall, cross the floor, and disappear into Lori and Leni's room. I would have dismissed it as a hallucination, had Leni not uttered a blood-curdling scream. She saw it too. That thing...it was _aware_ , for it had ragged holes for eyes, and in them I glimpsed malevolent intelligence.

My father began to act strangely around this time, becoming short-tempered and irritable. He began to drink as well, hiding bottles of vodka in the garage and going out periodically for nips. My mother became more authoritarian toward my siblings and I, meting out harsh punishments for the smallest infractions. After a heated argument, Lori left home and moved in with the Santiago family.

I was immune to the nightmares unlike my other siblings, but not the headaches, and the stomach aches, an ailment only I seemed to suffer. On April 2nd, I lost a tooth. Since I am young, I assumed it to be natural. Two days later, I lost another, and noticed that when I showered, an unhealthy amount of hair would wind up in the drain.

I was stricken. I built a thermosenser and it detected the presence of many unseen entities in the house, more appearing every day. I embarked on a device meant to close the rift, but I woke up one morning to find it gone. I've never recovered it.

By the middle of April, the things had spread out into Royal Woods. The number of murders, sexual assaults, and suicides increased. The number of dead bodies coming back to life in the hospital morgue, miraculously cured and possessing strange personalities went from zero to ten, literally, in a matter of weeks. One man even sat up during his funeral, claiming that he "felt better" even though he was full of embalming fluid and missing a heart.

Time started to get funny too. A day would go by too quickly, then the next would go by too slowly. It snowed on April 29th, and people along Franklin Avenue woke to find unexplainable hoof prints in the fresh accumulation, their tracks making no sense: Going up walls and across rooftops, disappearing for long stretches and then reappearing again. On May 1st, the Northern Lights appeared in the sky, forming odd and non-geometric patterns. That night, many old people and young children simply died.

Lincoln was admitted to the Royal Woods Mental Hygiene Center on May 3. On May 5, Luan lapsed into a deep coma. When she woke, she was not herself. Quite literally. Her eyes were a different color and there was a hollow, soulless quality to her voice.

Our house remained the epicenter for odd happenings. On May 10, it rained. Inside. That was the day I entered my room to find it replaced by a literal jungle.

I tried my best to fix what I had done, but through this period, I, too, began to black out, and would wake in places I could not remember entering, like Leni's bedroom: I came awake standing over her, a kitchen knife in my hand. She was unharmed. Thank God.

On May 12, Lola, Lana, and Lilly disappeared. No one seemed concerned. In fact, no one seemed to even remember them. I searched through photo albums. In pictures where they had been, there was only blank space.

Lucy hanged herself on the 15th. I found her, screamed, and alerted my parents. My mother was watching CNN in the living room, where a litney of strange weatherm violent crimes, and impossible happenings were being reported: My father was passed out in the garage. Mother panicked and followed me to Lucy's room, only to scold me for "telling stories." Though Lucy's body dangled inches from her face, she could not see her, and when she reached out to touch the spot I indicated, her hand passed through the dead girl's body was though she were a puff of smoke.

That was four days ago. I woke this morning to find the house empty and most of my hair gone. My teeth are loose. When I peered out the window this morning, I saw the same gray static one might see on a broken television set. I've also been having strange thoughts and hearing voices. I like to think it's just my mind decomposing, but I fear it's something more sinister.

Just now, a shadow flickered across the wall, and my neck is tingling. I swear something is standing over me, but when I look, I see nothing.

If anyone finds this, please forgive me. I did not mean to do this. I only wanted to make the world a better, more scientific place.

Not turn it into hell.


	4. Nam Flashback

Billy "Flip" Sawyer had his good days, and he had his bad days. Today was a bad day.

It all started when an Asian man came into his store just before 8am. Flip was standing out the counter and paging through an issue of _Hustler_ and didn't take special notice of him. Gook. Okay. Lots of gooks in the world. They weren't so bad. The man went to the freezer along the back wall, looked around, and grabbed a Natty Ice tallboy. He came to the counter, and when Flip glanced up at him, he froze. The guy was wearing a baseball cap with a big red star on it. Flip knew that star, it was the logo for the Royal Woods Raptors baseball team, but seeing it perched atop a slant-eyed face, he flashed back to Vietnam: He was hunched in a rice paddy, choppers soaring through the smoke. Men were crouched next to him, their faces scared and caked with dirt...some with blood. Moving slowly, Flip, nineteen and so terrified he could barely think, Flip slunk through the knee high water, his M16 held out in front of him. Suddenly, someone was screaming and coming from his left, a gook with a hatchet, burning eyes...and a red star on his hat.

"You alright?" the Asian man asked in clear English, bringing Flip back to Royal Woods, Michigan. He shook the memory from his head.

"Yeah. 3.50."

Raising an eyebrow, the Asian paid and left. Flip watched him climb into a car and back into the street, where he turned right and disappeared. Then, and only then, did Flip breathe.

From there, things only got worse. A car backfired at 9, and he ducked, throwing his hands over his head. He stayed behind the counter for a full ten minutes, panting and shaking, before he finally convinced himself this was America, not the Mekong Delta. You know what he needed? Some music. He turned on the radio and nodded along to Steely Dan and The Eagles. Good stuff. After an hour, The Doors came on with "Light My Fire," and he was back at camp, playing cards with some of the other guys with the radio on when something smashed through the window and rolled under a table. "Hit the deck!" someone yelled, and Flip dove out of his chair just as the table exploded; shrapnel and bits of rubble rained down on his back.

Turning the radio off, he went on a round of the store, making sure there were no cobwebs or sticky spots on the floor. When he found everything shipshape, he checked it again, then one more time just to be sure. Done, he grabbed a bottle of Coca-Cola from the fridge and opened it, taking a long, grateful drink. He screwed the cap on, and someone spoke behind him. He jerked and spun, dropping the bottle and falling into the still open fridge. A little girl with black hair, her eyes covered by her bangs, stood there. Her face was white, and he remembered guys in 'Nam looking the same way as they bled to death on the ground.

"Can I have the key to the bathroom?" she asked.

Gulping, Flip nodded. "Y-Yeah. Okay." He got up and went to the counter. He took the key to the women's room from a tray by the register and handed to her.

"Thanks," she said.

While Flip waited for her to come back, he selected a newspaper from the rack and started reading, but stopped when he realized she'd probably scare the shit out of him again when she came back. Unconsciously, he patted the revolver under the counter.

The girl came back and handed him the key. "Thanks," she said again.

"Have a good day," he nodded, forcing a smile.

After she left, he leaned against the counter and sighed. He had to get ahold of himself. The last time he got like this, he wound up tipping his kitchen table over and hiding behind it in his underwear, calling into a banana for air support. Okay, it wasn't _that_ bad, but it was bad nevertheless.

It's fine. You're okay. Vietnam's half a world away and, come to think of it, half a century back. You're in the good ole U.S. of A. Let freedom ring.

Still, he felt edgy. A man passed on the sidewalk, and Flip pressed his face to the window. Was he Asian? He looked Asian. Maybe...Vietnamese?

No, no, no. There was no VC here. Even the Asian people who lived in town were okay. They didn't mean him any harm. He was being stupid and he knew it. Knowing something didn't matter though if you felt something different. More people passed on the sidewalk. He was sure they were all Vietnamese. The bastards were casing the place, waiting until no one else was around before attacking.

Grabbing the gun with a trembling hand, Flip went around the counter, opened the door, and looked around. He saw cars. He saw VC trying to look innocent, but he knew how sneaky they were: They liked jumping out of trees and popping out of tunnels. Two would come walking up the road, say a boy and a woman, and you'd think they were villagers until the woman dropped to her knees and had a machine gun strapped to her back, and the boy started shooting. That's why you shot first and asked questions later.

Withdrawing back into his inner sanctum, Flip locked the door and went into the storeroom, where he kept a shotgun. He was loading it when someone knocked on the front door; he dropped a shell and it skitted away. He glanced out, and saw a black man in baggy jeans and a black sweatshirt peering inside. Asians could be black too. Of course, you didn't have to be Asian to be a dirty fucking commie.

"We're closed!" Flip called.

"Man, I need cigarettes!" the commie called back.

"We're closed!"

"I'll be real quick."

Flip brought the shotgun up. "I said we're fucking closed!"

The man's eyes widened and he fell back. "You're fucking crazy!" he cried and rushed away, throwing one last glance over his shoulder.

When he was sure the commie was gone, Flip bent, retrieved the shell, and slipped it into the breech, then he went behind the counter, grabbed a chair, and sat by the front door. Whenever anybody tried to come up, he pointed the gun at them.

After an hour, the police arrived and Flip breathed a sigh of relief.

Back-up.


	5. Lincoln's Fan Fiction

Lynn Loud sighed, slammed her laptop, and glanced over at Lucy. "My computer's frozen, can I use yours?"

"Mine broke three months ago," Lucy said without looking up from her book.

Lynn sighed. "I _need_ to finish this report. If I fail history, I'll get kicked off all my sports teams. Then what will I do?"

"Not play sports," Lucy said.

"No shit," Lynn sighed. She got up and went into the hall, looking left and right. Lori wouldn't let her use her computer because she was a big, fat, selfish bitch; Leni didn't have one because she couldn't even operate a calculator...Lincoln! Of course. Her bro was...well, a bro. Surely he'd let her use his computer for a little while.

At his door, she knocked. "Yo, Linc!"

He didn't answer. She knocked again. "Lincoln! I need a favor!"

Still nothing. Probably had those stupid noise cancelling earbuds in again. She tried the knob, and the door swung open, revealing an unlighted room. She snapped the switch. Empty. No one home.

Well... _almost_ no one: His laptop was sitting in the middle of his bed, plugged into the charger. Bingo. She picked it up, removed the charger, and took it back to her bed, where she sat. She opened it, and the screen lit up. Instead of shutting it down, Lincoln had simply closed it before setting aside: It was on a Word document. Lynn would have exited out of it without looking, but every single word had either a red or green squiggle under it. Damn, dude, you're spelling's worse than mine.

The doc was titled FANFICSIN. Fanfiction? Pfft. What a dork.

For a laugh, she started reading.

 _...Lynn bented over and lookeds over her showlder. Fuck me Lincoln._

 _Lincoln put his big9 inch peenis inside of her and it felt sooo good._

"What the fuck?" Lynn muttered, leaning closer, a tiny smile touching her lips. She scrolled up the doc. There were 10,000 words of this: Him fucking Luna, him fucking Luan, him fucking Leni, him fucking Lori, him fucking Lucy. At one point, Lynn, Lucy, and Luan were covered in whipp creem and their parents walked in, only for Luan to say, "Weel, this is a sticky sitchuation." Lynn lost it, laughing so hard tears rolled down her cheeks.

"What's funny?" Lucy asked.

Lynn waved her hand, unable to speak. Her sister fixed her with a expressionless stare, and Lynn laughed harder.

"Nothing," she said, getting control of herself. "It's nothing."

She closed the laptop and took it back into Lincoln's room.

 _You're lucky I'm a good sister,_ she thought as she switched out the light and left the room.

Or else he'd be in a sticky sitchuation.


	6. The Last Slice of Pizza

Lori yawned, stretched, and scratched the small of her back as she walked into the sun-washed kitchen. It was a glorious summer Saturday morning, and while everybody else was sleeping tucked in their widdle beds, Lori was going to get the last slice of pizza.

She smiled devilishly as she opened the fridge. It was on a paper plate and covered with saran wrap, a big, cheesy, pepperoni-y piece of goodness from Pissy's, literally the _best_ pizza place in town. Lori smacked her lips: She could already taste it. Ummm. Did they pit crack in it? She bet they put crack in it. How _else_ could they make it so good?

She grabbed the plate and shut the door, jumping when Luan leaned forward, her eyebows knitted. "Oh, no you don't," the younger girl said, putting her hands on her hips. "That's _my_ slice."

"Pfft. First come, first serve."

"Like you need it...with that spare tire around your stomach."

Lori's jaw dropped. "I do _not_ have a spare tire!"

"Well, what's this, fatty?" Luan poked Lori's gut, and it jiggled.

Lori's face flushed with anger. "Look who's talking, beaver. You could use your front teeth as a can opener."

Luan's jaw clenched. Before she could do anything, though, Lynn slid into the kitchen on socked feet, her head bowed and her fist in the air; she was humming Michael Jackson's "Bad." She looked up, saw Lori and Luan glaring at her, and tensed. "Oh, no, fuck this," she said, and grabbed the plate, yanking: Lori held on.

"Let go!"

"You let go!" Lynn shot back. "I got out of bed early on a Saturday morning specifically so I could get the last slice. You two assholes can fuck off."

Flashing, Luan grabbed the plate too, and it was a three way tug of war between them. Leni entered, her eyes closed and her raised hands bent limply before her, giving her the appearance of a dog on its hind legs begging for a treat. Her eyes popped open at the sound of the struggle.

"Great," she said. "I have to fight my way through three skanks to get my pizza."

"Shut up!" Lori grunted. "You don't even eat, anorexic."

"Yeah," Luan added, "Lori should know, since she's the queen of gorging her fat face."

"You barely fought your way through third grade," Lynn said, "and fourth gradekicked your ass."

Huffing, Leni waded into the fray, grabbing the plate. "Lori, you're a mean, bossy bitch; Lynn, you're a lesbian; and Luan, you're a joke, and totes _not_ in a good way."

"Fuck you, shit-for-brains!" Lynn said.

Luna walked into the kitchen, and her shoulders slumped. She sighed, turned, and threw up a hand in frustration. "Look at this shit! I _knew_ it." Lucy peered out from behind her, and sighed.

"I guess it wasn't meant to be."

"That's right, Count Dorkula," Lynn said, yanking the plate.

"Go take a dirt nap," Luan said through clenched teeth, yanking back.

"And take that glorified groupie with you," Leni said.

"What the fuck did you just call me?" Luna asked, coming forward.

Just then, Lincoln ducked around her and came into the kitchen, his hands in his pockets. "Hey, guys," he said casually, "it's your timid little brother, Lincoln, who loves you and would do anything for you, including relinquishing his claim on the last slice of pizza, how's it going?" He started past, like he was going to go out through the back door, but then spun and grabbed the last remaining bit of plate. "Give me that pizza, bitch!"

"Fuck your Edgar Winter looking ass," Luna said, "that's _my_ pizza."

"Get bent, you little homo," Lori sneered, "I had it first. And you can go to hell too, Spinal Tap."

Lola and Lana bounded into the room hand-in-hand. When they saw the fight, their shoulders sagged. "Just great," Lana said.

"And _we_ were going to share it," Lola said, shaking her head.

"Go share a gay kiss, you little losers," Lynn said, "this is my pizza!"

"No, it's mine!" Lincoln cried.

"Mine!" Leni said.

"Mine!" Lori said.

"Everybody! Calm down!"

They stopped tugging long enough to see Lisa standing in the doorway. "I believe I have the perfect solution to your problem. That is, I can clone that slice of pizza and there will be enough for everyone."

The sisters all looked at each other, and then to their brother.

"Okay," Lori shrugged.

"Fine by me," Lynn said.

"Whatever," Leni said, letting go.

"Perfect," Lincoln said, and laughed nervously. "Such a dumb thing to fight over, right, guys?"

Lori handed Lisa the plate. Lisa took it, nodded, then grinned. "Suckers."

She turned and darted into the living room, leaving everyone gaping behind her. "That bitch stole the pizza!" Luan said, balling her fists.

Lynn gave chase, and behind her, her siblings yelled and followed.

Lisa made it to the foot of the stairs before Lynn speared her into the wall, crushing her tiny body into the sheetrock. She grabbed the plate and stood over her sister to gloat. "Real smooth. And you're supposed to be the genius of the family." She turned around, and Luan punched her in the jaw: She tripped over Lisa and went down, the plate flying from her hands. Luna reached out and caught it with a satisfied smile, but Lincoln hit her in the back of the knee with a broken broom handle, and, with a cry, she sank down. He grabbed the plate, but Lori snatched him by the back of his shirt and head-butted him. Both cried out and dropped.

"Dumb bitch," Leni laughed, scooping up the plate. Someone punched her in the ass, and she spun to see Lola grinning. "You little..." Lola shoved her, and she stumbled back, tripping over Lana, who was strategically positioned on her hands and knees. The air went out of Leni's lungs in a rush, and Luan grabbed the plate.

"Hey!" Lola said, "that's ours!"

" _Pie_ in the sky, you little pageant whore."

"Hey, don't call her a pageant whore!" Lana said.

"Piss off, plunger slut."

Flashing, Lana punched Luan in her knobby knee, and she yelled. Lola snatched the pizza and took it over to Lana, pulling off the saran wrap. "Um," she said exaggeratedly, "I just _love_ Pissy's Pizza."

Lincoln, sitting on the floor and dazed, saw his chances of sweet, sweet Pissy's about to go down his sister's throat, and, with a scream, he leapt up and dove at her. She turned, her eyes widening, and he landed on her.

"Get off of me, Lincoln!" she roared. "You know what happens when you make Lola angry!"

"Nothing," Lincoln said, getting up, his knees on either side of his sister. "Because you're full of shit." He snatched the pizza and brought it to his lips, but Leni, having recovered, smacked it out of his hand. "Hey!"

"Your ass is, like, about to be full of my foot," Leni said. She bent over to grab the pizza, which had landed on the couch, and Lincoln did something only a desperate man would: He reached up and gave Leni a double titty-twister. She yelped and pulled away.

"You pervert!" she yelled, rubbing her wounded nipples. "That's incense."

"It's incest, dumbass!" Lynn cried, reaching over the couch and snatching the slice. "And don't flatter yourself, sweetie: No one wants to bang the retarded girl. It's illegal. And _gross_."

Lori tackled Lynn. "You're gross, you sweaty, stinky fucking jock." She grabbed the pizza from Lynn's hand and held it up. Flashing, Lynn socked her in the face, and she tumbled off, crashing into the trophy case, which toppled over onto her, spilling trophies and plaques onto the couch: One cracked Lincoln in the head and he cried out, blood gushing down his face. Another one landed on Leni's bare foot, and she screeched, hopping up and down on one leg like a blonde pogo stick.

"WHAT IS GOING ON DOWN THERE?" Dad roared, and everyone froze.

"Uh, nothing!" Lincoln called back, holding his hand to his head. His snowy white hair was streaked with red.

Footsteps descended the stairs, and at that moment, the Loud kids knew they were doomed.

"OH MY GOD!" mom screamed, her hands flying to her mouth. "What happened here!"

"Nothing," Lisa said as she got woozily to her feet. Her glasses were cracked and her pajamas were dusted white with plaster. "Go back to bed."

"You are all in _big_ trouble," dad said.

"I think I need stitches," Lincoln said.

"My foot's broken," Leni whined.

Lori crawled out from under the trophy case and looked up, her face covered in bruises. " _I'm_ okay," she said, and lost consciousness.

"Let me guess," dad said, "it was over that last slice of pizza, wasn't it?"

"It was _mine,_ " Luan said.

"No, it was _mine_ ," Lucy said, having stayed out of the fight.

"No," dad said, "it was _mine_. _I_ bought it, after all."

"Here then," Lynn moaned. She used the couch to help her get to her feet, the slice in her hand. She turned to Lincoln, swiped it across his bloodied face, and threw it at dad. "Bon appetit."

"YOU'RE ALL GROUNDED FOR SIX MONTHS!" dad roared. "AND I WILL NEVER ORDER ANOTHER PIZZA EVER AGAIN!"

"Honey," mom said, "aren't you overreacting? After all, at least it wasn't _really_ bad this time."

"Seriously," Lincoln said, "my head's busted open."

"And my toes are pointing in funny directions," Leni moaned.

Mom sighed. "Alright. Give me five minutes then we'll go to the emergency room."

Sigh.

"Again."


	7. Like Popping a Pimple

"Lincoln is _really_ getting on my nerves," Lynn said, crossing her arms, "I'm about to drop him."

On her bed, Lori sighed. Without looking up from her phone, she said, "Just be patient with him, Lynn."

"I've _been_ patient," Lynn said.

Two months ago, Lincoln wrecked his bike and snapped both of his wrists, requiring dual casts. Lynn understood it was a pain in the ass not to have use of your hands (she broke her right hand playing football once, and that was bad enough), but damn. He did nothing but bitch and moan. And piss, he did that too. Piss, bitch, moan. Whenever he entered the room, the atmosphere darkened, and everyone's mood soured. And that was before he started the bellyaching shit.

"Be even more patient," Lori said.

"He's always in a bad mood, though."

"You know why that is, don't you?"

"Because he's a little girl?"

"No." Here Lori actually looked up. "Think about it. He hasn't been able to play with himself in two months. All that stress building up...it must _literally_ be hell."

Lynn recoiled. "That's gross!"

"Pffft. Don't act like you don't do it. Lucy says it sounds like someone stepping in mud."

Lynn blushed. It was true. She played with herself every night before falling asleep. If she skipped a day, she was irritable. If she skipped two days, she was a restless bitch. Poor Lincoln. She never thought about that. He must be suffering like crazy.

"Well...now that you put it like that...I get it, but that doesn't make him any easier to live with."

"Then go help him or something."

Lynn's face crinkled. "Jesus, Lori! That's sick!"

Lori shrugged. "How so? A dick's a dick. It's not like you'd be fucking him."

"You're joking, right?"

"No," Lori said pointedly. "He'd do the same for you. Remember that time you had that nasty ass pimple on your back and you needed someone to pop it and he was the only one who would? And he got pus and shit all over his hands? Same principle."

Lynn flicked her eyes toward the ceiling. He _did_ do her a solid that day; that pimple hurt like a bastard, and when it popped...ahhh, sweet relief. But...that was different. Right?

"Why don't you do it, then?" Lynn asked.

"Because I'm not the one bitching about it."

Lynn sighed. Whatever.

In her room, she lay on her bed and tossed a tennis ball into the air, catching it and throwing it again over and over, her mind working. She imagined her brother lying in his bed much like she was, trembling in need of release...a release that would never come. She _did_ feel bad for him. And whenever she needed _him_ , he was right there to help.

Sighing, she snatched the ball out of the air and tossed it onto Lucy's bed. "Keep this warm for me, will you, spooky?"

"Sure," Lucy said, crisply turning a page in her book.

Lynn got up, went out into the hall, and, after looking both ways to make sure she was unobserved, went to Lincoln's door.

Lincoln was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, when she came in, both of his arms white and puffy with plaster. At the sound of the door opening, he sat up, his brows knitting. "You ever hear of knocking?"

Lynn shut the door behind her and pushed the thumb lock. Lincoln looked at her expectantly. "Well?"

With a sigh, Lynn sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him. Man, how do you approach a subject like _this_?

"Lincoln," she said finally, "you've done nothing but bitch and cry over the past two months."

His face darkened but she continued. "I was getting ready to knock your teeth down your throat, but Lori pointed something out to me."

She rubbed the back of her neck, suddenly very nervous. "She said...you know...that it must be pretty...hard, no pun intended, to not, you know...be able to play with yourself."

For a moment Lincoln watched her with furrowed brows, then understanding dawned in his eyes, and a blush spread across his face. "I..."

"I mean," Lynn said, "I know it's tough. It's been awhile."

He looked extremely uncomfortable.

"I do it all the time. So...being a good sister...I'm here to help."

" _What?"_

"I'm going to help you get off."

"No you're not," he shot back.

She pursed her lips. "Come on, you gotta be hurting. Remember that pimple you popped on my back? This is kind of the same deal."

"No," Lincoln said, shaking his head, "there's a _huge_ difference."

"Not really," she said.

"Yes. Really."

"Come on, dude, don't make this awkward."

" _Me?_ You're the one making it awkward!"

She looked at his crotch, her stomach knotting. "Your lips say no but that bulge growing in your pants says yes."

Lincoln looked down, defeated. Though every other part of him recoiled when she mentioned 'helping' him, his penis did quite the opposite, swelling and pushing against his pants. It _had_ been a long two months.

"Just...lay back and relax," Lynn said, grinning, "you'll like it."

He started to protest, but she pushed him back and straddled his legs, trapping him between her knees. She grabbed the band of his pants and unbuttoned them. His brain screamed at him to stop her, but his body yearned for release.

She pulled his pants down to his knees and admired the tent in his underwear, starting when she felt her loins beginning to stir. Alright. Just like popping a pimple. She hooked her fingers into his underwear and tugged them down. When he came free, her heart skitted to a stop. His head was swollen and tinted a purplish color, his tip leaking a clear fluid, beads of which dripped down his shaft like honey down a comb.

She swallowed against a sandpaper throat and touched it with her finger. It was warm and sticky.

"Wow," she said, her heart slamming. "That's really hot."

She looked up at him. He looked like a boy staring into the headlamp of an oncoming train. "Relax," she said, and wrapped her hand around his length. His body jerked and he took a deep breath. He was warm and firm in her hand, pulsing against her in raw _need_. She was starting to pant, the spot between her legs beginning to burn. God, he looked so good.

Sliding down, she adored it with wide eyes. "Just relax," she said huskily, rising up. "...enjoy it."

When he felt himself slide into her warm, wet mouth, Lincoln let out a long "Ahhhh," pleasure mixed with pain. He was big enough that he strained slightly against the velvety inner walls of her cheeks. She took him deeper, her tongue scraping his sensitive underside slowly, maddeningly. It felt so good that it literally hurt, the way fire can be so hot it feels cold.

He touched the back of her throat, then she pushed up, her lips forming around him like a glove...a soft, damp, silken glove. She went down again, and Lincoln could stand it no longer: With a cry and bucking hips, he exploded, filling her mouth with two months' worth of pent-up frustration. He came so hard that he felt as if he was pouring out his spirit.

Closing his eyes, he fell limp against the bed and let tried to catch his breath. Lynn pulled him from her mouth with an audible _plop_ and looked up at him, her lips wet with his seed.

"That was awesome," she panted, her eyes wide.

"You're telling _me_."

"Since I did _you_ a favor, how about you do _me_ a favor?"

Lincoln nodded. After that, he would do _anything_ for Lynn.

And _to_ her.

"Switch me spots," he said.


	8. The Catcher in the Rye

_The sounds of a city street. The sky above, the shade of cold iron. Birds passing like dots before his vision. He lie on the sidewalk, his arms and legs splayed, his breathing labored. Honking. Sirens. Faces gathering over him, someone kneeling. The world fading to black..._

* * *

Mick Swagger crossed his legs and snapped that morning's _New York Times_ open with a crisp sound. Before he was laid a breakfast he didn't want. Sausage, eggs, toast, beans, bacon, and coffee. The smell turned his stomach.

"The new album's sold under 100,000 copies," David Greenglass, his agent, said from across the table. They sat before a wide window overlooking Central Park and the fashionable shops up and down Fifth Avenue. It was October, and the trees blazed with color.

"That's nice," Mick said absently as he scanned the headlines. Middle East this, North Korea that. The same thing it had been since he was a child, and the same thing it would be long after he was dead. Oooh. Man Utd was playing tonight.

"No, actually, it's not. It's bad. We were expecting twice that."

"Shame," Mick said, turning the page. A giant black and white picture of Donald Trump greeted him. Below was an opinion column. Mick didn't read it because he didn't care either way.

David uttered a harsh laugh. "I expected you to take this a little more seriously."

"What?" Mick asked, looking up from the paper. "A fucking album selling 100,000 copies instead of 100,001? Right. Let me grab my handkerchief."

He shook his head and went back to reading. Or not reading. Whatever it was he was doing. Hiding? Blocking out the world?

"You're drinking again, aren't you?" David asked, his tone accusatory.

He was. The night before sent his personal assistant out for a bottle of Southern Comfort, and drank it in bed while watching a John Wayne movie. Fiesty bugger, that. Always galloping across dusty plains and shooting people. And he did it until he was old, older than Mick at least. How the hell did he do it? Didn't he ever get sick of being a cowboy or a Marine or...was he ever anything else? Didn't he ever get tired of black tie screenings and directors and premieres and all the other Hollywood bullshit?

If he did, he was like Mick. He did it because after the galas and screenings and signings and interviews, he would go home and stare blankly at the TV and feel totally, utterly _empty_.

"I am," Mick said evenly, "but I am sober now and I don't give a flying shit if that smelly fucking thing sells a single copy."

David sighed. "What's wrong? You've been acting weird lately."

"I'm tired," Mick said. "I'm tired of it all."

David shrugged. "Then quit."

"And do what?" Mick asked over the top of the _Times_. "Grow a spice garden? Play shuffleboard? Sit home in my slippers and look at the walls?"

"Get a hobby or something. A cause. Like Bono."

"I don't want a cause."

"What _do_ you want?"

Mick cocked his head and thought for a moment. "To go back to sleep."

David chuckled and shook his head. "You've changed."

"Don't we all?" Mick asked. There was a time when standing on stage in front of a hungry crowd elated him, when walking into a recording studio was like coming home...where he was happy and belonged. But as the saying goes, familiarity breeds contempt. The seventies and eighties were a never-ending swirl of tours, records, groupies, drugs, and drink. He existed in a haze, always on the road, always worrying over this verse and that track, recording and rerecording into the small hours of the morning. Then, when the new album came out, he would wait impatiently for the reviews, for the fans' reaction, so excited.

Then came the burn out.

First, there was the realization that the world was a strange and alien. He was so _lost_ in his own universe that he scarcely noticed the changes taking place around him. Bell bottoms became ripped jeans, leisure suits gave way to plaid and Chuck Taylor All Stars. Somewhere down the line, Johnny Carson retired and someone named Jay Leno took over his show. Records fell off in favor of much smaller records called CDs. If you stumbled on the street and bumped into a car, an alarm would sound and scare you half to death. He was an outsider.

Then there was the slow realization that making music wasn't fun anymore. The stage, the studio...just another day at the office. You sit at your desk and check the clock every ten minutes, counting down the time until you can go home. Only for Mick, home was worse, because what was at home? Expensive couches and paintings? A first wife? A second wife? Someone you desperately wanted to love but couldn't because you didn't love yourself first? So even though he hated it, he went in, stayed late, and drank himself to sleep while watching early morning infomericals. Kenny Rogers' Duets of a Lifetime! Only 19.95 plus shipping and handling. Order now.

"You going to the studio?" David asked.

"I'm sure in bloody hell not staring out at that fucking park all day," Mick said.

"Alright," David said, getting up. "I'll see you later."

Alone, Mick sat down the _Times_ and looked at his breakfast. Wretched shit. He got up, went into his room, and dressed in a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt. He threw on a pea coat and a pair of sunglasses to hide his red, bleary eyes. In the hall, he passed a once popular TV actor and nodded politely. _Fantasy Island? The Love Boat?_ Something like that. He saw him every once in a while on TVLand. He was much younger. And how the canned audience _laughed_.

In the lobby, the doorman nodded and tipped his hat. Mick gave him a bill from his pocket. It could have been a ten or it could have been a hundred. Who fucking cared?

Outside, the sounds of the city drifted over him. The air was damp and chilly. He took a cigarette out, lit it, and started toward the curb to hail a taxi.

"Excuse me, Mr. Swagger?"

Mick turned to see a short, fat man with glasses standing hesitantly against a sign post. He was holding a book in his hand. Ducking his head shyly, he came forward. "I-I'm a big fan. Can you...sign this, please?"

He held the book out, and Mick took his, glancing down at the cover. THE CATCHER IN THE RYE.

Mick grinned, took his cigarette out of his mouth, and blew a plume of smoke into the air. "I didn't write this, mate" he put his cigarette back and clenched it between his teeth, "but I'll sign it for ya."

He took a pen from an inner pocket of his coat, opened the cover, and looked up at the man, who was watching Mick's hands intently. "Who am I making it out to?"

"Me," the man said nervously, glancing up at Mick and then to the book, "Michael Duncan Conner."

"Alright, Mike," Mick said. He wrote: To Michael Duncan Conner. Perhaps you've mistaken me for Salinger? Mick Swagger."

He closed the book, handed it to Conner, and nodded. "Take care."

"You too, sir," Conner said.

Mick went to the curb and scanned oncoming traffic for a cab.

"Mr. Swagger?"

Mick turned, and Michael Duncan Conner shot him.

* * *

 _The sounds of a city street. The sky above, the shade of cold iron. Birds passing like dots before his vision. He lie on the sidewalk, his arms and legs splayed, his breathing labored. Honking. Sirens. Faces gathering over him, someone kneeling. The world fading to black..._


	9. Evil Walks

**Unless otherwise noted, the stories in this collection are not connected. They each take place in their own self-contained universe. There will be stories that are linked to one another, and maybe even stories connected to some of my longer works. By and large, though, they will be standalone pieces. This story is connected to the last one through the death of Mick Swagger.**

Luna Loud sat cross-legged on her younger sister's bed, her arms crossed against a chill that radiated from her very core, a teeth-chattering cold that worked through her veins and bone marrow like poison. Her eyes were red and her freckled cheeks were stained with tears. She had been inconsolable since the news broke that a deranged fan shot and killed Mick Swagger in New York that afternoon, locked in her room and crying into her pillow. The aching loss she felt over the death of her favorite singer, the man responsible, in a way, for who she was now, was so profound that she thought she would die right along with him.

She would give anything to have met him at least once. That's all. Just one stinking meeting.

Then an idea came to her.

Sitting cross-legged as well, Lucy laid her small, white hands on the crystal ball and threw her head back, her bangs falling away from her face and giving Luna the rarest glimpse of her eyes. "I am seeking the spirit of Mick Swagger," Lucy intoned, "may he come to the sound of my voice and appear before me."

Nothing happened, and Luna sighed. She didn't think anything would, but when you're in grief and there's the _slightest_ chance, you take it and don't care about looking or feeling stupid. It was worth a shot.

"Mick Swagger...come to the sound of my voice..."

"Luce..." Luna started, but suddenly, the clear glass ball swirled with white mist, and Luna started. A voice issued from the depths of its center, long, low, and British. "I am Mick Swagger."

Luna's heart bounced in her chest and she instinctively leaned forward, her eyes widening. In the mist, a face appeared, its features obscured by shadows.

"Mick...Luna Loud would like to speak to you..."

"Put her on." That voice...it sounded like Mick's, but there was something else, a dark undercurrent that made the hairs on the back of Luna's neck stand up.

Lucy nudged her. "Talk," she whispered.

Luna wetted her lips. "Uh...I'm a big fan, dude...you...you really inspired me."

Mick Swagger chuckled, and Luna shivered. "Thank you. It's always good to talk to a fan. Well... _almost_ always."

"I...I really miss you, man. I wish you were here."

Lucy's head whipped around. "Luna!"

The glass cracked, and the mist surged forth, wrapping itself around their heads as dark laughter filled their ears.

There was one rule in séances: Never, _ever_ invite a spirit in. At best you'll have a ghost hanging around your house, and at worst...a demonic entity well-versed in mimicry will cross over. You never knew to whom you were speaking, so you had to be very, very careful.

For Lucy, the world went black. For Luna, it went red as the thing from the mist took her, long tendrils of hell-fog slipping into her ears, her nostrils, and her mouth. Choking and trembling, Luna tumbled off the bed and landed on the floor, her fingers clawing at her throat. She seized, white foam falling from her mouth.

With a spasmodic jerk, she fell still, her huffing chest falling and her heart stopping just long enough to allow the demon to fully possess her. She sat up, her eyes flashing and a satanic smile pulling at the corner of her lips. The thing in her body looked around, taking appreciative stock of the room. It got to its feet just as a girl with brown hair came in, clad in a white shirt with a red number 1 on it, gym shorts, and socks. She turned to the thing, her ponytail swishing, and her freckled face scrunched up. "Are you okay?"

The thing felt a brief flutter in the loins of its host. The brunette before it was young...innocent...so soft, so warm...so easy to defile.

"I'm fine," Luna's voice said with a seductive hilt. "I was just...napping."

The brunette glanced at the bed, where the black-haired girl was slumped over in the shattered ruins of the ball, and her eyes went wide. "What happened to Lucy?"

Rolling her eyes, the Luna-thing came forward. "Well...she broke her crystal ball, and..." The brunette turned just as it took her in its arms.

"What are you doing?" she cried, trying to pull away.

Luna leered, her eyes blazing and her lips pulled back from her teeth in a sneer of sadistic anticipation. "I'm going to fuck you."

Panicking, Lynn drew back her fist and smashed her sister in the mouth: Her lip split and blood gushed out. Luna let her go and stumbled back, tripping over her own feet and landing hard on her ass. Her head jerked up, and a shadow of rage crossed her face. "You little bitch," she growled.

She started to get up, and Lynn turned and ran into the hall, slamming the door behind her, her heart rattling in her chest. Lori was coming up the stairs, her head bent over her phone.

"Lori!"

Lori glanced up. "What?" she asked, annoyed.

"There's something wrong with Lucy and..."

Before she could finish, the door was ripped open, and Luna grabbed her under her breast. She yanked her off her feet, her breath hot against Lynn's neck, and Lynn screamed.

"Hey!" Lori cried, rushing over. "What are you doing?"

Luna threw Lynn aside and grabbed Lori by the front of her shirt. "I'm going to fuck that little bitch then kill her. Then I'm going to kill _you_."

The blood drained from Lori's face. "L-Luna?"

Luna shoved her against the wall and turned on Lynn, her fists balling. "Come here, cunt."

Screaming, Lynn brought the bat down and cracked Luna in the head with it. With a cry, she fell against the doorjamb and dropped to the floor. Lori was standing against the wall, her eyes wide and her face pale.

Huffing, Lynn dropped the bat. "S –"

White smoke curled up from Luna's head in a long shaft, then, as Lynn watched in horror, it surged toward Lori, disappearing up her nostrils. Lori choked and grabbed her throat, bending at the waist.

"Lori!"

Lynn started for her, but stopped when Lori's head whipped up. "You can't get away _that_ easy, you slut." She came forward, and Lynn grabbed the bat from the floor.

Lori stopped at Luna's body, her arms planted on either side of the doorframe, her nostrils flaring. "Stay back!" Lynn said, her teeth chattering, "I'll hit you."

"Fuck you," Lori said, and stepped over Luna. True to her word, Lynn raised the bat and brought it down on Lori's back; she collapsed, uttering a breathless _umph._

Lynn was shaking, her heart exploding against her breast and her knees shaking. She took a step forward, and jumped back when Lori lifted her head. "Alright, bitch." Smoke poured from her nostrils, and before Lynn could do anything but stare, they shot up hers, wrapping her brain in cold slime. She dropped the bat, hitched, grabbed her chest, and sank to one knee.

In a moment, she looked up and smiled. Getting to her feet, she grabbed the bat from the floor and cracked Lori over the head once, twice, three times, four. Her skull was shattered and her brains oozed onto the carpet like chunky marinara sauce. Bitch.

Dropping the bat, she went out into the hall and looked around as though she had never seen the place before...which she hadn't. Noises drifted up the stairs, and she went to the top, cocking her head to listen. A TV was on. Someone cooed as if to a baby. Lynn descended the stairs and entered a living room. A blonde girl with white sunglasses on top of her head was sitting on a couch and bouncing a baby on her lap. Two little blonde girls, one in a pink dress and the other in overalls, were playing tea party in the middle of the floor, the girl in overalls looking bored. So many girls to defile...the thing in Lynn's body reached between its legs...and no penis. Lynn chuckled. Oh, it could still be done, but it wouldn't be the same.

Lynn spotted the kitchen, and started toward it. "Hey, Lynn," the girl in the pink dress said.

"Hi," Lynn replied, passing by.

"Uhh...are you okay?"

Lynn ignored her and went into the kitchen. There had to be a knife drawer in here somewhere. Ah, there, by the sink. She went over, opened it, and saw a thousand forks and spoons and butter knives, but nothing sharp. Damn it. She checked three other drawers, nothing. Didn't these people ever use _knives?_

Just then her eyes fell on a butcher's block wedged between a microwave and a coffeemaker. Ah ha! She took a wickedly sharp steak knife out and admired its gleaming edge, its dangerous point. She pressed a finger to it, and a bead of blood dripped from pierced flesh. Perfect.

"Hey, Lynn!" someone said from behind her, and she turned to see a girl with braces and a ponytail. She was wearing a skirt and socks pulled up to her knees. How many girls did this place have?

"Hi," Lynn said.

"Wanna hear a joke?"

Lynn held up her finger. "How about I go first."

The girl's brow furrowed. "Okay. Shoot."

"What has two thumbs and a knife?"

The girl touched her chin with her finger, her eyes rolling up and pointing toward the ceiling. "Hmmmm. I don't know. What has two thumbs and a knife?"

"Me," Lynn said, bringing the knife up with one hand and grabbing a handful of the little bitch's hair with the other. Braces cried out and twisted.

"Lynn, stop!"

Lynn drew the girl closer. "I'm going to enjoy cutting your..."

"Uh...what's going on in here?"

Lynn looked up to see a little boy with white hair standing in the threshold between the kitchen and the living room, a glass in his hand. Her eyes flashed and a blazing smile burned across her lips. A penis! Perfect!

The thing inside of Lynn surged out and rushed toward the boy, whose eyes went wide. It snaked up his nose, and he dropped the glass; it burst against the floor as he screamed and waved his hands around his head.

"Lincoln!" the girl with the braces cried.

Lincoln gagged and turned, slamming his face into the doorframe and falling back against the floor, blood gushing from his nose. The world went red, and suddenly he was not in control of himself.

The girl with the braces knelt beside him, her worried face filling the world. "Are you okay?"

Lincoln grinned and grabbed her shirt. "...heart out!" The girl screamed and tried to pull away.

"Lincoln? Luan?"

The girl with the sunglasses was standing there, looking confused.

"Leni!" Luan screamed, "help me!"

Lincoln smashed his fist against Luan's face, and she toppled over.

"Hey!" Leni yelled.

"Hey yourself," Lincoln said, jumping to his feet. He snatched a glass salt shaker off the kitchen table. "Want some salt?"

He flung it at her, and it smashed against her forehead. She yelped and stumbled backwards. Lincoln laughed, and turned on Luan, who was on her hands and knees. "I'm going to enjoy this _so_ much," he said, kicking her in the stomach. She made a muffled noise and fell. He pulled his pants and underwear down, his hard penis popping free: It was much smaller than the thing had hoped, but it was big enough to defile a little teeny-bopper slut like Luan.

"Lincoln Loud, you stop it right now!"

Lincoln spun to see the twins standing there. Their eyes widened when they saw his penis.

Ahhh. His thing would feel _much_ bigger inside one of them.

Lincoln came forward, and they both screamed and bolted for the stairs. He gave chase, but at the end of the couch, Leni popped up with a firepoker in her hands and brought it down. It tore against his head, and he went down, darkness rushing up to meet him.

The boy was rapidly dying, and the thing tried to escape, but Lincoln Loud's heart stopped before it could, trapping it inside of his body for all eternity, where it would dwell even as its host turned to dust. In dying, loyal Lincoln was watching out for his sisters one final time.


	10. Luna's New Vibe

Luan was drifting on the verge of sleep with a sharp _click_ and low _bzzzzzzzzzzzz_ filled the room. Not this shit again!

Sighing, she rolled over and glared at Luna. Her sister, her face bathed in the soft electric glow of her cellphone, was nodding her head to music only she could hear, a pair of headphones covering her ears. She made a face as, under the covers, she slid her vibrator into her waiting passage. Her breathing changed, becoming heavier... _louder_. Turn your head and look at me silently hating you, Luan thought, but Luna, her eyes closed and her lower lip clenched between her teeth, only nodded and fucked herself.

Luan rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, the maddening _bzzzzzzzzz_ worming its way to the middle of her head.

When you live in a room with another person, you get to know things about them that you might not particularly want to know. Luan had learned that her sister liked masturbating. Every night before drifting off, Luna would "flick the bean." She did it in darkness, and as silently as possible, but Luan heard; the first time, she inferred from her sister's moans and heavy breathing that she was having either a nightmare or an attack of something. She asked if she was alright. "Fine," Luna said.

It took Luan a while to figure out why her sister made funny noises every night before going to sleep, and when she finally did, she was repulsed. Ugh! Your sister's right next to you and awake, gross!

She got used to it, but then, just this past week, Luna somehow got her hands on a handy helper and the fun _really_ began. For an hour at a time, she'd use that thing on herself and keep Luan awake. Luan brought it up, and all she got was a "Sorry, dude." Then it happened again. And again. And again.

Luan gritted her teeth. Someone oughta...

An idea came to her, and she grinned devilishly into the night. Have fun, Luna, because tomorrow you're going to be in a _world_ of hurt.

The next day, after school, Luan came home, went into the kitchen, and grabbed a glass bottle, which she took upstairs. Shutting the door, she grabbed a sock from her drawer, slipped it over her hand, and retrieved Luna's new vibe from under her pillow, her hand feeling dirty despite the layer of protection.

"This will _really_ get you hot and bothered," Luan said as she sprinkled Frank's Red Hot onto the purple noisemaker. She used her sock hand to spread it around. "You know what they say about Frank's, Luna. I put that shit on _everything."_

She threw her red-stained sock into the dirty clothes hamper and returned the hot sauce to the kitchen, getting back upstairs just as Luna came through the front door: The older girl found her sister sitting innocently in the middle of her bed. "'Sup?"

"Oh, nothing," Luan said, "just being _saucy_."

"Cool," Luna said absently.

Luan waited impatiently for bed. When the time came, she slipped under the covers and waited for her sister to turn out the lights. Come on, I know you're horny; use your thing already!

Luna switched out the lamp at midnight and put her headphones on. Luan watched as she took the vibrator out from under her pillow, turned it on, and slipped it beneath the covers. She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

For a moment, nothing happened, then Luna gasped, her face contorting strangely. Luan covered her mouth with her hand. Hahahahahahahahahahaha!

"Oh, it _tingles_ ," Luna said huskily, her body shaking. Her arm worked faster. "I _like_ it."

Luan's face fell.

Luna moaned loudly and reached behind her head to grab a handful of pillow. The bed squeaked as she thrusted her hips and arm in furious unison. You gotta be fucking _kidding_ me...

She gasped, sighed, moaned, groaned, and cried out as she came, convulsing like an epileptic in the midst of a seizure. When she was done, she lay back against the pillow and fought to catch her breath. Loudly.

Well, _that_ didn't go according to plan.

A few moments later, she heard the vibrator click back on. _Bzzzzzzzzzz._

Making a sound of frustration through clenched teeth, Luan flopped onto her stomach and covered her head with her pillow.

She got _very_ little sleep that night.


	11. The Panty Raid

Clyde McBride lifted the window sash and climbed quietly into the room. He heard no sounds.

Tiptoeing, he went over to the dresser and opened the top drawer. Bingo! Lori's panties, a rainbow of neatly folded red, blue, green, and pink delicates faintly scented with Lori's dank womanhood. He picked up a red pair and lifted them to his nose, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as her smell filled his brain. Oh, yeah. An erection stirred in his pants and he went to touch himself, but behind him, the door opened, and he jumped, spinning around with a terrified look on his face.

Lori was there, looking down at her phone. She glanced up and froze, her eyes widening. "Clyde! What the fuck are you doing?"

Clyde panicked. He threw the panties at her and bolted for the window, but her legs were longer, and in two strides she had her arm around his neck. "You little freak!" she cried, squeezing. The world went gray, and Clyde was sure that this was the end.

Instead of killing him, however, Lori pushed him onto her bed. "You wanna sniff something, you weirdo?" She yanked down her shorts and underwear, revealing her bare, Y-shaped sex: Clyde's jaw dropped. "Sniff this."

She climbed on top of him, her beautiful flower eclipsing the sunlight like the full moon. He could smell her and feel her heat, and his erection twitched. He had the presence of mind to remove his glasses before she sat, her lips opening wide as if to gobble up his face. It was wet and hot and fleshy and _awesome_.

"You like this, you pervert?" Lori asked as she grinded herself up and down the ridges and peaks of his face, each brush against his nose and brow sending quivers into her center. She moved faster, faster, gasping and pinching her nipples through her shirt. She lifted up and squatted over him. "Eat my ass, Clyde."

Clyde blinked, her hot, tangy love juice coating his face. Her pink, puckered butt-hole was inches above his face. It looked so warm, so tasty. He grabbed her thighs and lifted himself to it, swirling his tongue along the outer rim. Lori moaned and shuddered. "Yes, like that." When the tip of his tongue slipped in, she jumped and let out a squeal. She stood, turned to look down at him, and nodded to his body. "Take your pants off."

Wide-eyed, he gulped, nodded, and yanked his pants and underwear down, his erection shooting out. "Damn," she said, her eyes half-lidded. "You're bigger than Bobby."

She took him in her hand, and he jerked. "Oh, Lori!"

Grinning, she settled down until his tip was pressing against her entrance, straining to slip in. His eyes were closed and his mouth open in an expression of bliss, a long ribbon of drool running down his chin. "You ready to lose your virginity, Clyde?"

He nodded.

"You ready to finally fuck Lori Loud like you've always wanted to?"

"Yes! God, yes!"

Lori stood. "Too bad, you little pervert. Get out of my room."


	12. Two for Flinching

Lincoln opened his bedroom door on a sunny Sunday morning, and Lynn was there, grinning. He jumped back, and she stepped forward, her fist raised and an evil smile on her face. "Two for flinching!" She punched his arm twice in rapid succession; felt like someone shot him with a .50 cal.

"Stop!"

She chuckled mean-spiritedly and took off down the hall while he rubbed his sore arm. He was getting really sick of this: Lately, every time he turned a corner, Lynn was there, waiting to wail on him. "Two for flinching! Two for flinching! Two for flinching!" Sometimes he didn't even flinch and she still hit him. It was getting out of control.

Sighing, he went into the bathroom and just taking his thing out when the shower curtain ripped back. He fell back a step, his heart rocketing into his chest. Lynn jumped out and hit him twice; he lost his balance and fell with a strangled cry, the back of his head bouncing off the hard tile floor. "Two for flinching!" She uttered another nasty little laugh and left Lincoln on the cold floor, his skull aching and his arm burning. "I hate you!" he screamed, jerking and kicking like a child throwing a tantrum. He sat up and hugged himself. He had to stop this. It was driving him crazy.

How could he get her to stop, though, short of...?

An idea came to him and he grinned.

He bided his time, watching her go about her day. _You got something coming to_ you _, Lynn_ he thought devilishly. The best part was: She had no idea.

After dinner, he crept upstairs to his parents' room and took something out of their closet. He hid in his room, the door open just enough so that he could watch the hall. When Lynn appeared at the top of the stairs, he grinned. She went into the bathroom and shut the door behind her, and Lincoln put his plan into motion. He crept to the door and stood as close to it as he could. The toilet flushed, the sink ran, then the door unlocked and opened. Lynn saw him and leapt back, her eyes going wide. "Jeez, Linc! You scared the heck outta me!"

Lincoln smiled. "Two for flinching," he said, and brought the gun up.


	13. Where's Chunk?

Luna Loud was kneeling in front of her speaker and searching it for cracks. "You gotta be more careful, man," she said. "I know it was an accident, but you really dropped it. These things aren't cheap." Satisfied that it was free of breakage, she stood up and turned around. "Can...?"

She trailed off.

Chunk was there just a moment ago; now he was gone, and the room stood empty. Her brow furrowed. "Chunk?" She went to the door and looked in the hall. Nothing.

She sighed. This dude was _always_ doing this to her. One minute he'd be there, the next he'd be gone. He was almost as bad as Lucy.

"Yo, Chunk!" she called.

No reply.

 _Great, now I gotta play hide-and-seek with my roadie. Just what I wanted to do with my afternoon._

She went to the bathroom door, which was closed, and knocked. "Chunk, you in there?"

"Just me!" Lynn called back. Luna heard something plop into water, and her face crinkled. Aw, gnarly.

Next, she knocked on Lori and Leni's door. "Chunk?"

"Not in here!" Lori replied.

Luna pursed her lips and put her hands on her hips. Where is this guy? Probably in the kitchen. She didn't pay him much, so she let him raid the fridge when he was hungry. Maybe he was loading up on snacks.

The kitchen, however, was empty, save for Lucy, who was sitting at the dining room table and working on a poem. "You seen Chunk?"

"No," Lucy replied flatly.

Luna threw her head back and let out a long, low _uhhhhh_. She opened the fridge even though she knew his big ass couldn't fit in there even if he tried. She looked in the basement, outside, under the back porch, in the shed, in Lucy and Lynn's room, in Lincoln's room, in Lola and Lana's room, in the garage, under Vanzilla, in the rose garden, on the roof, in the chimney, behind the TV, under the couch cushions, in the back of the toilet. Her frustration grew until she was uncharacteristically angry, her teeth bared and her fists clenched.

There was one place she hadn't checked. Breathing deeply through her nose, she opened Lisa's door, and what she saw made her jump back with a cry. Lisa, naked save for a Nazi officer's cap with a giant swastika across the front, was bent over her bed, her hands clutching the cover. Chunk was behind her, pumping...dressed as a Yiddish Rabbi complete with beard, hat, and long curls.

"What the fuck?" Luna screamed.

Lisa's head whipped up. "Luna, go away...we haven't finished yet."

Luna looked at Chunk. "Don't judge me, love," he said, "it's been a _long_ time."

In shock (and disgusted), Luna shut the door and walked dazedly away.

"You gonna scramble her mind again?" Chunk asked. Though Luna didn't remember, this was not the first time she had walked in on them.

"Of course," Lisa said, "now avenge Auschwitz and decimate me."


	14. Just Say No

Lincoln Loud bought one marijuana from a boy at school and took it home. In his room, he held it in his hand and looked at it. Whoa, he thought, I'm about to get "high" for the first time. I'm so cool!

He loaded into a needle, tied a rubber band around his arm, and jabbed his vein. When he depressed the plunger, the "toke" filled him, and his head immediately started to spin. Oh, yeah! He stood up, but the floor was suddenly mud! Oh no! He began to sink, and screamed as demons reached up and grabbed him. _Come to hell, Lincoln,_ they said, _we love drugs in hell_. Lincoln's face started to melt like candle wax, and his heart was beating so fast you could see it pounding against his shirt. He put his hands to his face and wailed. "Why did I try drugs?"

When he woke up under his bed sixteen hours later, he was thin and his eyes were sunken. He needed more "pot." He got up and went to his sister Luna. "I need pot," he said.

Luna crossed her arms and looked at him sternly. "If you want drugs, bro, you gotta work for them."

An hour later, he was selling his ass on a street corner to feed his addiction. He would get into cars with men, go somewhere private with them, and do things to them that he didn't want to do. Luna came by to collect, and when he didn't have enough, she got angry. "This is all?" she asked, clutching the fifty dollars in her hand.

Lincoln hung his head in shame.

"Is Luna Loud gonna have to slap a bitch?"

"Please..."

Luna back-handed the piss out of him, and he fell to the sidewalk in a heap. She stood over him, her teeth sharp and her eyes blazing. "You need to make more money!" she screamed.

At the end of the day, he had more money, and she gave him a "joint." He smoked it, and he started shaking and puking. He liked being "high" though, so he smoked the rest of it and stayed awake for three days having sex for money. Luna smacked him around, and when he got sick of it, he stole her "weed" and ran away, jumping a train and riding the rails with other weed freaks. They would smoke, play guitar, and smoke some more. One day he wound up in Portland, Oregon, where he lived in a cardboard box and begged pennies from strangers. The day before he turned twelve, he died with needles hanging out of his arms and O.D. foam crusted on his mouth.

Still think the devil's lettuce is cool?


	15. Sweet Spot Aftermath

Lincoln Loud pounded down the stairs and entered the living room, where all of his sisters were sitting on the couch, their arms crossed and scowls on their faces. Lincoln dropped into the armchair. "Fuck you guys," he said, "the sweet spot was _mine_."

"Put a dick in it, Lincoln," Lori sighed. "I'm the oldest, so it was _mine_."

"No," Luna said, "it was _mine_."

"As a genius of titanic proportions and the only member of this family worth anything to society, it should have rightfully gone to _me_ ," Lisa said.

Lynn shot daggers at her. "Shut up, you Nazi bitch, it was _mine_." 

Lisa pinched the bridge of her nose. "Why does _everyone_ keep calling me a Nazi?"

"Maybe it has something to do with all those memes saved on your computer," Lynn said.

Lisa's face fell. "You went on my computer?"

"I sure did." Lynn looked around. "Lisa likes scat porn."

Lisa's face turned beet red and she looked away. Lynn laughed and slapped her knee. Lori looked disgusted. Lincoln had no idea what scat porn was, but he seriously doubted it was some dude going _scooby-dooby-be-bop_ on the pussy.

Lucy turned to Lynn. "Does she like it as much as you like Clyde?" Lynn's smile died and her eyes narrowed.

"I do _not_ like Clyde!"

"Then why is his name in little hearts all over your notebook?"

Lori laughed. "You like Clyde? That's _literally_ the grossest thing I've ever heard."

"Clyde is _not_ gross!" Lynn roared, her face red. "He's cute and sweet and as soon as he gets over _your_ bimbo ass, we're gonna date."

Leni's face brightened. "In Lori's diary is says..."

Lori slapped her hand over her sister's mouth. "If you _ever_ tell anyone what's in my diary, I swear to God I will rip your dumb blonde head off."

"Lori likes it when Bobby chokes her," Lola said. "Leni told me." She uttered a mean-spirted little laugh. "She's Miss Mean and Bossy with us, but she _loves_ being Bobby's bitch."

Lori's face turned red. "Well, Lincoln's adopted!"

Luna's head whipped around as Lori pressed her hands to her mouth, realizing what she'd done. "You stupid bitch," Luna said.

Lincoln sat up straight. "I'm adopted?"

"The _one_ thing we were never supposed to talk about," Luan said, her brows knitted in an angry V, "and you talked about it. Nice job, dumb shit."

Lori looked at Lincoln. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean..."

"Even _I_ kept that secret," Leni said, crossing her arms sullenly. "You are _totes_ stupider than I am."

Lori broke down crying. She got up and fled from the living room, climbing the stairs. A moment later, her door slammed.

Lincoln realized all of his sisters were looking at him, the younger ones in shock, the older ones in something like pity. "Lincoln's adopted?" Lana asked, looking strickenly around. "Sorry," Luan said, "we love you the same."

"You're still our bro," Luna said.

"I had my suspicions," Lisa remarked.

"I _thought_ it was funny I didn't remember mom being pregnant," Lynn said and flopped back against the couch. She looked at Lincoln. "I love you the same, man."

For a long time, Lincoln simply sat there, staring ahead and taking stock of his emotions. Finally he hooked one leg over the arm of the chair and sighed. "Thank God I'm not actually related to you assholes."

"Fuck you," Luan said.

"And your little sweet spot," Luna added. "When the van gets fixed it's _mine_."

"No," Lola said, "it's _mine_."

"Fuck you, pageant whore," Lana said, shoving her sister over. "That's my seat."

"It's my seat and I'll whip the first ass I see in it," Lynn said.

No one ever mentioned Lincoln being adopted ever again, because really, what does it matter? They were all assholes to each other anyway...


	16. No Training Needed

After dinner, Lincoln was sitting on his bed and reading a comic book when Lynn came through the door. "Yo, Linc, come on."

He looked up. She had her hands on her hips and her face was screwed up in determination. Uh-oh. "I'm busy," he said.

"Too bad. Come on. I need you."

Lincoln sighed and tossed his comic book aside. Why fight it? She would pester him until he gave in anyway.

She led him into the backyard. It was a chilly late September afternoon; the leaves were just beginning to change, and the sun was setting. Football, Lynn, really? You don't get enough of this shit at school?

"So," Lynn said, standing in front of him, "today begins your training."

"Training?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yep," she said. "I'm going to train you not to be so timid and weak."

Lincoln snorted laughter. "I'm not timid and weak, Lynn, I'm just a nice guy. I can be a total asshole if I wanted to, but I don't."

A malicious light touched Lynn's eyes and a predatory smile spread across her face. "I think you're full of shit."

"Yeah?"

She leaned close. "I think you're a gutless little pussy." She poked him hard in the forehead and he blinked.

Lincoln drew a breath through his mouth and let it slowly out his nostrils.

"I bet you and Clyde have gay sex every day, and you're the bottom because he's ten times the man you are."

Lincoln bit his lower lip.

"Dickless wonder." She poked him again.

"Alright, Lynn, now you're starting to piss me off."

Her eyes flashed evilly. "Oh? And what are you going to do about it, nutless? Go cry to mommy and change your tampon...?"

Lincoln's eyes narrowed and his teeth ground.

"You're just a weak, sniveling, white-haired, cocksucking, punk-ass..."

He threw a cross-punch: His fist slammed into her jaw, and she crumpled to the ground, the coppery taste of blood filling her mouth. She looked up, her hand fluttering instinctively to her mouth. Her tongue found a hole where there hadn't been one a moment before.

Fists clenched, Lincoln loomed over her, and she was actually afraid.

Instead of hitting her again, he kicked dirt, and something hard and white hit her in the face. "There's your fucking tooth."

Lynn gaped at him.

Then grinned.

"I was wrong about you. No training needed."


	17. The Demonstration

Lori was sitting in the middle of her bed, texting, when a knock came at the door. "Yeah?" she called without looking up.

The door opened. "I require a ride," Lisa said.

"I require you to do something for _me_ ," Lori said.

"I assumed the birth control I supply you with every week paid my way. I guess I'll just flush what I have..."

Lori looked up. "Where?"

"The courthouse. There's a demonstration I wish to take part in."

Lori raised an eyebrow. "A demonstration?"

Lisa nodded. "Yes."

She sighed. Whatever. "When?"

"Seven this evening."

"Alright," Lori said, looking back down at her phone. "Now get lost."

Later, after dinner, Lori was sitting on the couch watching TV when Lisa came down the stairs. She was wearing black combat pants and a black T-shirt. She was carrying a long black bag. "Ready?"

Lori glanced at her. "Huh?"

"You agreed to provide me with transportation to the protest rally tonight."

Ah. She totally forgot. "Alright," she sighed. "Let's go."

In the van, Lori asked, "How long is this going to take? Do I have to babysit you the whole time?"

"Negative," Lisa said. "I anticipate the event lasting approximately an hour. You may return home then come and get me afterward."

The streets of downtown Royal Woods were blocked off with wooden sawhorses. Police officers in helmets stood behind them. "Uhhh...is this safe?" Lori asked. One side of the street was crammed with people holding signs. LOVE TRUMPS HATE; peace signs; etc.

"Perfectly," Lisa said.

When Lori reached the courthouse, she was shocked to see the grassy square before it filled with skinheads and people dressed in white robes and hoods. A man in a T-shirt with an American flag emblazoned across the front held a Confederate flag on a pole. Another man in a brown uniform held a pole bearing another flag: It was red with a white circle, and in that circle was a black swastika.

"What the fuck is this?" Lori asked as she parked.

"My countrymen," Lisa said. She hopped out and pulled a tiki torch from her bag. "Tonight, we stand up for the white race."

Lisa slammed the door and crossed in front of the van. She stopped to the give the Nazi flag a stiff armed salute, and the man holding it nodded to her.

"Oh, God," Lori said and rolled her eyes.

The violence in Royal Woods that night made Charlottesville look like a joke.

And Lisa had the time of her life.


	18. Lincoln Takes a Trip

Lincoln Loud had a problem: Morning breath. Every morning, he woke up with rancid ass-mouth that could gag a maggot off a meat wagon. It was so bad that you could practically smell it from the other side of the hall when he came out of his room.

Luna had a similar problem, and kept a packet of Listerine strips on her nightstand, the kind that dissolve on your tongue and leave your mouth minty fresh. She was cool and let him take one on his way to the bathroom. On a sunny Saturday morning, he stopped in Luna's room, which was empty, and went to her nightstand.

There was no packet.

Hm.

He opened the drawer and rummaged around. Inside of a book called _Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas,_ he found one. There was a peace sign on it. Strange, but whatever. He sat it on his tongue and let it dissolve.

Tasted funny. Not minty _or_ fresh.

Fifteen minutes later, he was on his way back to his room when the walls started to melt. He jerked around, his heart beginning to race. What the fuck? The end table moved, and he cried out. _Hey, Linc, put stuff in me and set stuff on top of me._

Lincoln screamed and started for his room, but Luan popped out. Only something was wrong with her. Her eyes were too big, and they spun like chrome rims. When she spoke, he could see her words as a stream of color. "Hey, Linc, wanna hear a joke?" She sounded like she was standing at the end of a tunnel.

Lincoln gaped. He was sweating and his heart was racing.

"You okay?" she asked. When she reached for him, she had Freddy Krueger hands; Lincoln panicked, shoved her out of the way, and darted into his room, slamming the door behind him. He jumped into his bed and drew his knees to his chest. _What's happening to me?_

The walls were breathing, rising and falling like a chest. Ace Savvy winked at him from a poster on the back of his door. A sound came from the vent above him, and when he looked up, a flood of rainbow liquid cascaded over him. He screamed and started to drown. "Help me!" he screamed. "Help me!"

The door burst open, and Lori came in. She saw her brother lying on the floor, tangled in his blankets, and rolled her eyes. "Lincoln, you need to grow up."

Lincoln poked his head out from the blanket. In the doorway, a hissing, spitting _thing_ with an ant body and Lori's head shot fire from its mouth. He screamed and threw his arms over his face. "Don't eat me!"

Shaking her head, Lori left the room.

"Lincoln," Lucy said, appearing, "I need..."

Lincoln screamed. Lucy was a zombie! "Don't eat my head!"

Lucy blinked. "What?"

He grabbed his pillow and threw it at her: It hit her in the face.

"Why did you do that?" she asked impassively.

Still screaming, Lincoln crawled under his bed and curled up in a ball. The dust bunnies started talking to him, and he wept as they told him the secrets of the universe.

Meanwhile, Luna dropped onto her bed, opened her drawer, and took out a book. She flipped it open.

Uh...where's my acid?

Luan came in. "Have you seen Lincoln? He's acting really strange."

Luna shook her head and put the book away. "No, I..."

It hit her then.

Lincoln must have taken her LSD thinking it was a Listerine strip.

Cold horror filled her.

"Luna?"

Without speaking, Luna jumped up and rushed into Lincoln's room. She heard the sound of soft sobbing coming from under his bed, and her heart stopped. She knelt. He was pushed against the wall, his arms around his knees.

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God...

"Hey...you okay?"

He shook his head. "It smells like pink in here."

Luna opened her mouth, but didn't know what to say. Instead she wiggled halfway under the bed and took Lincoln's hand in her own. He looked at her. His pupils were huge. Oh, man, oh, man, this was _not_ good.

"Hey, uh...think happy thoughts, okay?" she stammered.

He cocked his head.

"Like, uh...remember when you were little and I used to sing to you? Remember?" She licked her lips and started to sing. "Hush, little baby don't say a word..."

Lincoln grinned. "I remember that. The walls sang with you."

"Sure, man, yeah," Luna said, squeezing his hand. "The walls love you. Everything loves you."

He smiled. "Yeah. I can _feel_ it."

She nodded. "Everything's happy. Everything's good."

He rolled onto his back, pulled his hand away, and then put his arms behind his head. "Everything's happy and good."

"Right."

"Hush, little baby don't say a word, everything's happy and good."

"Totally good. Just...enjoy the feeling."

Lincoln nodded. "I will."

He enjoyed the feeling for almost three hours, and Luna never once left his side. If it looked like he was going to start freaking, she sang to him and held his hand. Finally, she coaxed him out and laid him in his bed. She laid next to him.

When he finally crashed, she left the room, shutting the door gently behind her, and turned to find Lori standing there with her arms crossed. "What's wrong with Lincoln?"

"Nothing," Luna said quickly, "he just, uh...he was sick."

Lori's eyes narrowed and Luna squirmed under her sister's hot gaze.

"Tell me what's wrong with him or I'm telling Mom and Dad."

Luna sighed. "I had a tab of acid and he ate it."

" _What?"_

"He's fine. He tripped then he passed out. I was with him the whole time."

"Jesus Christ, Luna! That could kill him!"

"He's good, I swear!"

"Move."

Luna stepped aside, and Lori went into the room. She found Lincoln lying on his back, a smile on his face and his chest gently rising and falling. "See?" Luna asked.

Lori spun on her. "You need to be more careful if you're going to keep shit like that around our family, Luna. Having Lincoln take it was bad enough, but what if was Lola or Lana? What if it was _Lilly_?"

Misery swept through Luna, and she bowed her head.

Lori looked at her brother, her brow crinkling with concern. She touched his forehead. It felt normal. She turned back to Luna. "You should be ashamed of yourself."

With that, she brushed past her sister and stormed off.

"I am," Luna said. She sat heavily on the edge of Lincoln's bed and wept into her hands.

 _I'm sorry, Lincoln...I'm so sorry..._

* * *

 **The NSA is already watching me. So is the IRS. And the Horror Writer's Association.**


	19. Nazi Lisa

**This is a sequel to AberrantScript's Nazi Lisa story from his "All in the Life of a Loud" collection. I don't know if he plans to build off of this or not...I just wanted in on the action so I wrote this. Who knows, he might go his own way and I might go mine, so there will be two Nazi Lisas running around. This story is largely self-contained so you could read it without reading his, but why not head on over and check his out too? For the record, I am not a Nazi nor do I support Nazism: I turned Lisa into a Nazi in a few stories as a running gag and then asked to see AS tackle the character.**

* * *

Lori Loud was texting Bobby when her bedroom door was thrown open; it slammed against the wall, and Lori started with a cry, the phone dropping from her hands and bouncing off the bed and onto the floor. She jerked her head up to see Lisa standing in the doorway, her hands clasped behind her back. She was wearing gray trousers, black boots, and a green officer's jacket with silver buttons. Over her right breast was a patch depicting an eagle with spread wings. Clutched in its talons was a swastika. On each side of her neck collar were the letters SS in lightning bolts. Lori sighed.

"Lori, I need you," Lisa said.

"Well," Lori said, bending over and grabbing her phone, "I need a million doll..." When she looked up again, Lisa was holding a Mauser handgun: It was pointed directly at Lori's head.

"Lisa?" Lori asked, her throat suddenly dry.

"Now."

Nodding dumbly, Lori got up and crossed the room. Lisa stepped aside, and Lori brushed past her the way an arachnophobe would pass a spider hanging in a web. "My room," Lisa said, her voice steely.

In Lisa's room, Lori stopped, her eyes widening: The place was _crawling_ with babies. Blonde haired babies with red sashes were lined up in front of Lilly's crib while brown-haired babies baked under portable UV lights. In the middle of the room, Lincoln was tied naked to a chair, his mouth duct-taped and his eyes wide with terror.

"Lisa, what the fu...?"

"I will make this simple for you to understand, Lori. I have taken it upon myself to rebuild the Master Race. Lincoln is the perfect example of Aryan genetics. You...you will suffice. I plan to extract Lincoln's sperm for use in my efforts. From you, I require eggs."

Lori turned on her sister, her eyes wide. "Are you crazy?"

"No, Lori. In fact, I am saner than any of you. In my four years on this earth, I have watched the steady degeneration of the white race. I stood by as my siblings – my own _blood_ – befriended Negros and sought, actually sought, romantic relationships with common Mexicans. It's quite a shame. Genetically, you are both _Ubermensch_. Socially, you are _Untermensch_. You have been thoroughly corrupted by our Jewish Bolshevist society. Your DNA, however, remains superior. It is my goal to combine your eggs and Lincoln's sperm to create the perfect Aryan superman. We stand on the precipice of a new world, Lori, and you are the Eve to Lincoln's Adam. You should be honored that I chose you."

Lori's head spun. "Look, I..."

In a corner, Lilly was slapping a bust of Adolf Hitler in the face. "Lilly!" Lisa roared, and the baby turned her head. "Do not for one second think that I am above putting you into an oven!"

Lori swallowed. "Lisa, listen..."

Lisa turned and jabbed the Mauser into Lori's stomach. "Honored. You should be _honored_."

* * *

Luna Loud came slowly awake, her head spinning and her stomach sick. Her chin rested against her chest, and when she tried to lift her head, a red bomb-blast of agony exploded across her consciousness and she moaned.

"The sedative is wearing off, I see."

Luna managed to lift her head and open her eyes. Lisa was standing over her, backlit against the harsh glow of an overhead light. Luna blinked and looked around. They were in the attic. A big red flag was tacked to one wall. In the center was a white ball containing a black swastika.

Luna swallowed and looked at her sister. She was dressed like a Nazi from the History Channel. "Wh-What's going on?" Luna asked.

"A scientific experiment, dear Luna," Lisa said.

"What?"

Lisa turned and pressed a button on a reel-to-reel recorder. "Beginning experiment # 10. Subject is conscious and stabilized."

"Lisa, what are you doing?"

"Subject # 12-5," Lisa said, taking a syringe from the table, "I am going to inject you with an immobilizing agent. If you fight or move, I may nick a major artery and you will bleed to death. So be still." Lisa approached, and Luna stiffened, crying out when Lisa jabbed the needle into her neck. Within moments, her muscles froze and her breathing changed, becoming deeper, slower. Lisa pushed Luna's head back so that she stared up at the ceiling.

"I will now begin the attempt to alter Subject # 12-5's DNA."

Luna gulped. Lisa bent over her, a different syringe in her hand. "This is industrial bleach, Luna. I will endeavor to wash away the cursed brown in your eye and turn it blue – the color of Aryan supremacy."

With that, Lisa sank the needle into Luna's eye, and though in her head she wailed, only a tiny moan passed her lips.

When both of her sister's eyes were filled with bleach, Lisa sat the syringe aside and looked up. "All for you, _mein Fuhrer."_


	20. Nazi Lisa 2

**This is a sequel to the latest chapter of AberrantScript's "All in the Life of a Loud" (chapter 7) which is in turn a sequel to my "Nazi Lisa" which is itself a sequel to his chapter 6. Each of these stories can be read as a standalone piece, but it's better to read them all.**

* * *

In the basement, Lisa closed the boiler door and latched it. Because she enjoyed watching the suffering of inferiors, she had installed a glass porthole through which she now watched Lynn, whose face was covered with blood. Her brown eyes were muddled and her lips moved soundlessly. Lisa used her to study the effects of traumatic head injuries: She was completely insane, and the insane had no place in the perfect Aryan world.

"Hit the showers, Loud," Lisa said through a toothy smile as she pressed a red button. A yellow gas floated through a clear tube connected to the boiler and began to fill it. Lynn started coughing violently as Zyklon B filled her lungs. She thrashed, her eyes turning red and beginning to seep blood. Blood also trickled from her nostrils. She spasmed and couched, spraying the pane with more blood. Lisa produced a notepad from the pocket of her service jacket and jotted down notes.

"So," Leni said from behind her, and Lisa winced, "Lincoln's thingamabob has to go _inside_ my girl parts?"

"Yes," Lisa said, turning. Lincoln was strapped into a kitchen chair, naked and unconscious. Leni sat on his lap, her dress hiked up around her hips. Her brow was crinkled with confusion. "Well...how do I take it off?"

Lisa blinked. "What?"

"How do I take his thingie off and put it inside me?"

Lisa took a deep breath. She was beginning to get angry. "It doesn't come off, Leni. It stays on."

"Oh."

Lisa's original plan was to have Lori birth the new Master Race, but she was uncooperative, and had to take a shower. Leni, with her blonde hair, fair skin, and blue eyes, was Lisa's last chance. The only other sisters with the right genes were Lana and Lola, and they were not of child bearing age. The only problem was: Leni was a complete moron who did not understand the first thing about human biology.

Sighing, Lisa walked over and knelt beside the chair. Lincoln's erect penis rested between Leni's pink lips. "Lift up," Lisa commanded, and Leni did. Taking her brother's penis in one gloved hand, she held it and, with her other hand, touched Leni's privates. Leni jerked. "Be still," Lisa said. She found Leni's opening and guided Lincoln's penis to it. "Sit."

Leni did, emitting a tiny yelp as she sank onto Lincoln's penis.

"Now rock your hips."

Leni did, and a moan escaped her lips. "Uhhh...that's nice."

"Keep doing that until Lincoln fills you with his warm boy goo. Okay?"

Leni was lost to passion, her arms around Lincoln's neck and her hips gyrating. Ahh, succ...

The doorbell rang, filling the basement. Damn it, who could that be?

She went over to a monitor and pressed a button: Through the lens of a camera, she saw Clyde McBride standing on the doorstep. A shudder of disgust went through her. She had absolutely no use for Negros...

An idea struck her, and she smiled. She mounted the basement stairs while Leni continued rolling her hips and gasping; she held Lincoln's neck tight. In the sunwashed kitchen, Lucy was getting a juice box from the fridge. She turned and regarded Lisa with a blank expression. "I like your uniform."

"Thank you," Lisa said.

"Nazis are dark. I like dark. Can I be a Nazi with you?"

"Yes," Lisa said. She _could_ use an assistant. "Get the door and bring Clyde in here."

"Okay."

Lisa waited with her arms crossed over the chest of her service jacket as Lucy opened the door and fetched Clyde. When he entered the kitchen, his smile dropped. "Uh, Lisa, why are you...?"

Lisa pulled the Mauser from her jacket and pointed it at him. "Your time on top has come to an end, you black bastard. No more will you pillage and corrupt the white race."

Clyde's eyes widened. "Lisa, I..."

Lisa pointed the gun at his leg and pulled the trigger. The report was deafening. He cried out and fell. "Lucy," Lisa said, "take him to the attic while I check on Leni."

"Okay," Lucy said. She grabbed the back of Clyde's shirt and started dragging him away. "Come on, you dirty African-American."

Lisa sighed. They would have to work on Lucy's slurs.

In the basement, Lisa found Leni sitting still on Lincoln's lap, a smile on her face. "Ah, he finished?" Lisa asked walking over. Lincoln's head rested limply against one of his shoulders.

Lisa froze when she realized he wasn't breathing.

She checked his pulse.

He was dead.

Lisa whipped around, rage filling her. "That was fun," Leni said.

"Leni..." Lisa forced through clenched teeth, "what did you do?"

"I hugged Lincy's neck and rocked my hips like you said."

" _YOU SUFFOCATED HIM!"_

Leni tilted her head to one side. "Suffa-whaaa?"

Lisa pulled out the Mauser, jammed it against Leni's forehead, and pulled the trigger. Leni's head jerked back as blood, brain matter, and bits of skull spayed the floor. She tumbled off and lie in a heap.

Ruined! It was all ruined! There would be no Master Race, there would be no Fourth Reich. She failed Hitler. She put the Mauser against her temple but stopped.

That's right! Why didn't she think of this before?

Shoving the gun into her jacket, she hurried upstairs. In her room, she opened her closet door. The Trans-Dimensional Teleportation System she built when she was two stared back at her; it was a metal arch with a hollow center resembling a doorway.

"I forgot all about it," she muttered as she ran a cord from it to her computer. "What a fool!"

When she was two, Lisa began researching the possibilities of alternate realities, and found that there were many. Some of them were identical to hers save for some minor alteration (in one, Thomas Jefferson was the second president and John Adams was the third...that was the only discernable difference). In every reality, the Loud family existed. In one, Lincoln was a girl with ten brothers, in another Lincoln and Lynn were embroiled in a disgusting and unnatural romantic relationship. And in one, she recalled now, becoming giddy, Lincoln was convicted of a petty crime and, during his time in juvenile hall, he became...

Lisa typed and pressed a button. The hollow center of the archway filled with light, and then went dark. Lincoln stepped out. He was wearing black combat boots, black cargo pants, and a black tanktop revealing muscular arms. On one was a swastika tattoo.

"...a Nazi."

Lincoln stepped out of the closet and looked around, his brows knitted down. "Where am I?" he asked.

"You're in an alternate reality," Lisa said.

Lincoln looked at her, and his eyes slightly widened. "Lisa?"

"As you can ascertain from my attire, I am a Nazi in this reality."

A sly grin played across Lincoln's lips. "Did we win the war in this one?"

"Unfortunately, no," Lisa sighed. "The Third Reich was defeated by the Soviet Union on June 23rd, 1946."

Lincoln cocked his head. "Huh. It happened in 1947 where I'm from."

"Such is the nature of alternate realities," Lisa said. "I require your assistance. I am attempting to build the Master Race and I need...well...I need your genetic material."

"My what?"

"Your sperm, Lincoln. You are the perfect example of the Aryan Man, with your fair skin, blue eyes, and pale hair. I'm asking you to father the Coming Race."

Lincoln thought for a moment then shrugged one shoulder. "Alright."

"There's a catch, however."

"Isn't there always?"

"This undertaking necessitates your impregnation of Lori."

Lincoln's jaw dropped. "Lori?"

"Yes. She is a near perfect example of the Aryan Woman. Your child will be the savior of the world."

Lincoln sighed. "Well...if it restores us to our rightful place..."

"It will."

"...I'll do it."

"Great," Lisa said. "Now I need to fetch an alternate Lori." She sat behind her computer, and Lincoln walked over.

"Where's your Lori?"

Lisa looked up at him. "Gas chamber."

"Ah. What did you use?"

"Zyklon B. Naturally."

Lincoln smiled. "Good girl."

Lisa typed. The doorway shimmered with light. Lori appeared, looking dazed. She walked into the room and looked around. "Where am I?"

Lisa pulled the Mauser out of her jacket and aimed it at her. Her eyes widened. "Take your shorts off, lie on my bed, and let Lincoln impregnate you."

 _"What?"_

"Do it now, goddamn it. I'm not in the mood."

Lincoln pulled something out of his pocket and flicked his wrist: A retractable baton. "Just lie down and enjoy it, my Aryan princess. We're gonna save the world..."

* * *

Clyde McBride woke strapped to a chair. His heart was racing. When he realized he was naked, he gasped.

Lisa and Lucy were standing over him, Lisa with her hands clasped behind her back and her chin tilted up, Lucy with her arms crossed. She wore a red arm band on her left arm.

"Subject # 13-0 is conscious and stabilized," Lisa said. It was then that Clyde saw the reel-to-reel tape recorder on a desk. "Beginning Experiment # 11."

Lisa pulled on a blue surgical glove and picked up a hunk of steel wool. "We will now attempt to turn Subject # 13-0 white."

She stepped forward, grabbed a handful of his hair, and rubbed the steel wool against his cheek like he was a dirty pan. He screamed as he felt his flesh ripping and tearing. _"_ _SS-Untersturmführer_ Loud, bleach, please."

Lucy grabbed a jug of bleach, unscrewed the cap, and splashed it in Clyde's face. His eyes burned.

Lisa scrubbed harder. When he pain became too great, he passed out.

An hour later, Lisa stepped back. The skin of Clyde's face was tattered; in places bone was exposed.

It was a failure.

Oh well. Lisa had fun.

She whipped the Mauser out and shot him in the head.


	21. Nazi Lisa 3

**This is a sequel to chapter 8 of AberrantScript's** _ **All in the Life of a Loud**_ **. By this point, you know the score. You should really read his chapter 8 so you know what's going on. I apologize if this is getting confusing or annoying, but hey, I'm having fun, and that's what this site is about, right?**

Lisa descended the basement stairs, her gloved hand trailing the dusty banister. At the bottom, she stopped. The wide, stone-walled space was filled with dozens and dozens of incubators in neat rows. She walked along the first, pausing to look inside one: A tiny fetus was growing. Lisa flashed a shark-like smile. She designed the incubators to expedite the process: In only a few short days, she would have an army of Nazi Lincolns at her disposal. Then, she would bring forth an army of Lenis and Loris from the multiverse and mate them. She _had_ to get lucky with at least one pairing.

Pleased with herself, she went into the next room, where she had installed a crematorium. A dozen bodies wrapped in black plastic awaited disposal, including the original Nazi Lincoln, killed by a psychotic Leni-from-another-dimension. Lisa pushed a button, and the depths of crematorium filled with fire. She bent, grabbed Nazi Lincoln, and winced when a loud CRASH! followed by the sound of breaking glass filled the world. _I swear to Himmler if someone broke one of those incubators..._

She whipped out the Mauser and went into the main antechamber of the basement, freezing when she saw the entire first row lying broken on the ground, Lincoln fetuses scattered like pale shrimp on the deck of a trawler. Rage filled Lisa, and she bared her teeth. When she looked up, her face fell.

Leni stood among the ruins, looking confused. When she saw Lisa, her eyes brightened and she waved. "Hi, Lisa!"

"What are you doing here?"

Leni was dead.

"I don't know," Leni said, touching her chin with her index finger. "I woke up in your closet and..."

 _BANG!_

Muttering angrily to herself, Lisa went up the stairs. In the kitchen, she jerked. A group of Leni's stood by the counter happily prattling to one another. Lori was standing against the fridge texting, while another Lori wandered about, looking around. "Where am I?"

Dear, God, the teleporter was malfunctioning!

Lincoln came into the kitchen, holding hands with Luan. Behind them, Lynn bared her teeth. "You don't remember the camping trip, Lincoln? We had sex!"

"Nope," Lincoln said, "don't remember it at all. Do you remember the big snow storm?"

"The what?"

A gaggle of Lucys came next, followed by yet another Luan. She was holding what looked like a video game controller, a black cord dangling down. "Hey, Linc, wanna play a game?"

Another Luan came in, scratching her crotch. "My funny bone itches."

Lisa put her hand to her head. This was _not_ good.

"Hey, Lise, nice outfit," Luan said. "I did _Nazi_ that coming."

Lisa shoved the moron out of her way and hurried to her room, passing more Lincolns, Lynns, and Lenis. In her room, she found Lucy – her Lucy, with the red armband – pointing a Luger at a man with bushy black hair and a snake tattoo on one forearm. He was wearing a black button-up shirt open at the throat, the cuffs rolled up. "C'mon, honey," he said, his hands up, "I'm not gonna hurt you."

Lisa whipped out the Mauser and shot him.

"Something's happening," Lucy said.

"I know that, Lucy," Lisa said tightly. She went over to her computer and typed out a halt order, but before it went through, the screen turned blue. "Goddamn it!" Lisa roared, punching it and knocking it over.

The archway lit up, and a man in a suit came through. His leathery skin was stretched tight across his skull and his gums were gray. "Where's Lincoln?" he asked. "Where's Mother?"

Lucy shot him.

"Do something."

 _"I'm trying!"_

Lisa picked the screen up and sat it back on the desk. She waited for it to reload while more Lincolns, Luans, Lunas, Lenis, and Loris spilled out of the closet. Finally, the computer came to life and she typed out another halt order. This time, the archway went dark with an electric _whrrrrr_.

"Now," Lisa said, getting up and crossing to a green crate with a swastika on it. "We eliminate the extras. Spare as many Lenis and Loris as you can." She opened the crate and pulled out two StG 44 rifles. She handed one to Lucy.

In the hallway, a line of Lucys, Lincolns, and Lynns waited for the bathroom. Lisa brought her rifle up and depressed the trigger: Eight copies of her siblings jerked and spun, their blood splattering the wall. She kicked open the bathroom door, and found Lynn sitting on the toilet, her shorts around her ankles. Lisa brought the gun up, and a look of terror crossed Lynn's face. The burst caught her in the chest; she toppled off the toilet and fell into the space between it and the tub.

Downstairs, a gang of sibling clones had gathered in the living room. Lisa found Lucy holding her rifle on them. "On your knees," Lisa commanded, "all of you."

"Lisa...?" Lori asked.

 _"Now, goddamn it! Get on your knees!"_ Everyone looked at her strangely, and it was only then that she realized she had spoken in German, so she repeated herself in English.

Looking scared, her siblings complied, kneeling and facing away from her.

"Hands on the back of your heads," Lisa said.

When they were in position, she nodded to Lucy. Together, they raised their rifles and opened fire.


	22. Lincoln and Clyde's Big Blowout

"Um, _damn,_ " Clyde said, shaking his head slightly.

Lincoln glanced at him. "What?"

"Lori," Clyde said, looking down at his phone. Lincoln saw a picture of his oldest sister talking on the phone. It looked like it was taken from outside her bedroom window. Without her knowledge. "She makes my dick _hard_."

"Dude!" Lincoln cried. "That's my sister!"

Clyde shook his head again. "Look at those tits. They're kinda small, but I like 'em. The perfect handful. Or mouthful."

"Bro, shut the fuck up."

They were sitting at their normal table in the cafeteria. A thousand kids talked around them, their voices forming a roaring din. Ronnie Anne was sitting across from them, reading from a text book and jotting down notes in a notebook. She looked up, her brow crinkling. "Hey, Clyde, you're a fucking pervert."

Clyde ignored her. "I wonder if the carpet matches the drapes. Of if she even _has_ a carpet."

Lincoln snapped: He spun and knocked the phone from Clyde's hands. It flew through the air, hit the floor, and slid under a table.

"Dude, what the fuck?" Clyde yelled, turning, his eyes narrowed.

"Stop talking shit about my sister," Lincoln said.

"I wasn't talking shit," Clyde said.

"Yeah, you were," Ronnie Anne said.

Clyde turned to her. "No one was talking to you, sugar tits."

"Yo!" Lincoln said. "That's my girl!"

"Man, fuck you," Clyde said and got up. "You're both weak."

Ronnie Anne started to get up, but Lincoln waved her off. "You need to cool it, bro. Lori doesn't want your ass."

"She'll come around," Clyde said, then went to get his phone. When he had it, he left the cafeteria.

"What's up with him?" Ronnie Anne asked.

"I don't know," Lincoln said, "but he's getting on my nerves. He's about to get dropped."

The rest of the day, Lincoln tried to think of anything but Clyde, which wasn't easy, since they had every class together. In math class, he looked over and saw Clyde looking at another picture of Lori, this one taken through the crack of a door. Lori was painting her toenails. Lincoln's face scrunched up and he looked at his friend. In history class, he saw Clyde doodling in his notebook. He craned his neck to see, and was appalled to glimpse a crudely drawn Lori lying on her back with her legs spread. "Come and get it, my Nubian prince," the speech bubble above her head read.

At the end of the day, Lincoln started walking home, and winced when he heard Clyde. "Hey, buddy, wait up!"

Aw, man, I am _not_ in the mood.

When Clyde came up beside him, he was panting. "Going home?"

"Yes," Lincoln replied tightly and started walking again.

"Can I come over? I wanna sniff the toilet seat after Lori uses it."

Lincoln had had it. He spun. "Man, I'm about to whip the kink outta your hair if you keep talking about my sister like that."

Clyde's face darkened. "I'd like to see you try, white bitch."

Lincoln hit him in the stomach with a sick uppercut. The air went out of Clyde in a rush and he stumbled back. He recovered quickly, though, and hit Lincoln in the chin with a vicious cross-punch. Lincoln's head whipped back, and Clyde tackled him, knocking him to the grass and mounting him. He pulled his fist back, but Lincoln heaved him off. He landed on his stomach, and Lincoln straddled his back. "Get off of me!" Clyde roared, but Lincoln killed that noise by punching him in the side of the head. Clyde screamed in pain and bucked Lincoln off.

Clyde jumped to his feet, Lincoln was on his ass. Clyde pulled back his foot and kicked Lincoln in the face; Lincoln's nose shattered in a burst of blood and he fell back. Clyde mounted his chest again, but Lincoln punched him in the eye, breaking his glasses. He threw another punch, this one connecting with Clyde's lip: Teeth crunched and the tang of blood filled his mouth.

Seizing the opportunity, Lincoln pushed him off and struggled to his hands and knees, where he fought to catch his breath. His nose ached monstrously and tears stood in his eyes. "You hit like a bitch," Lincoln said.

"You hit like a homo," Clyde said. Lincoln got to his feet and stumbled toward his friend, who was sitting on his knees. Clyde's head flopped back, and he started to speak, but Lincoln brought his fist around in a deadly arch. It smashed against Clyde's face, and he went limp, toppling over and hitting the ground like a fallen oak.

"That's right, bitch," Lincoln said, leaning over and waving his hand in front of his face. "You can't see me." He hocked a loogie and spat on the back of Clyde's nappy head.

At home, Lisa looked at Lincoln's nose. It was not broken, so all she could do was give him a painkiller. "What happened to _you_?" Lynn asked.

"I beat the fuck outta Clyde after school."

Lynn gaped. "What? Why?"

"He kept talking mad shit about Lori."

"Oh."

The next day, at lunch, Lincoln was chowing down on a roll when Clyde came up and sat next to him. His lips were split and one of his eyes was black. "Hey," Clyde said.

"Hey," Lincoln said cautiously.

"Sorry about yesterday. I was mad horny so I got kinda nasty. But then I went home and jerked off in a pair of Lori's panties I stole, now I'm good."

"Bro!"


	23. A Child Born of Incest

Lori lie on Lisa's bed, her face red and slathered with sweat: Her blonde bangs were plastered to her forehead, and her eyes were pooled with misery. Lincoln knelt beside her, their hands clasped together.

"Alright," Lisa said from between Lori's legs, which were propped up in an M-shape. "Push." The little girl was dressed in pale green scrubs. A white swastika was stitched into the fabric over her heart. Another was sewn into her cap.

Lori took a series of quick breaths and pushed. Lisa watched the baby's head crown.

They managed to keep the pregnancy a secret from the rest of the family. Lori didn't know until she was almost six months along, and she barely showed. From the very beginning there were problems: The baby was smaller than it should have been, and the ultrasounds showed obvious deformities. If the child was fortunate enough to be born alive, it would most likely be retarded.

Lisa only agreed to help because she wanted to study the effects of inbreeding. Otherwise, she would have turned them away: Incest disgusted her, and she could no longer bring herself to look at her oldest sister or her only brother.

"It's okay, honey," Lincoln encouraged, "you can do this."

"It hurts..." Lori moaned.

"Give me a big push," Lisa said.

Lori took a deep breath and pushed; she cried out in pain and clamped down on Lincoln's hand. Between her legs, Lisa nodded, "Alright, here it..."

She jumped back, a look of horror on her face. Lori went limp, her eyes fluttering closed.

"What?" Lincoln asked worriedly. "What is it?"

He pulled his hand out of Lori's and hurried around the bed. What he saw made him freeze. The baby lay on the bed. Its body was bent and malformed. Instead of arms it had tentacles lined with obscene suction cups. Two heads fought for position on its stubby neck. Seven eyes, three mouths, a sideways nose, and teeth randomly poking out of its cheeks. It looked like something that had melted in the oven.

" _Mein Gott,"_ Lisa muttered in German.

Lincoln felt lightheaded.

Lisa whipped a Luger from under her smock and pointed it at the baby. Lincoln came alive. "No!" he screamed, and shoved her arm. The shot went wild, lodging in the wall. She pulled away and spun on him.

"You're worse than a Jew, Lincoln. At least Jews give birth to something resembling humans. This _monstrosity_ is a creature, a freak." Lincoln glanced at Lori. Blood spilled from between her legs.

"Lisa!"

"You and Lori are race traitors of the worst sort. Look what you created, Lincoln. _Look what you created!"_

She jammed the gun against his heart and pulled the trigger. His eyes widened as he toppled over. Next, she put three bullets into the _thing_ between her sister's legs. Deciding to save a bullet, she let Lori bleed to death.

Now she had three dead bodies to worry about.

Sigh.

Muttering to herself, she grabbed the bone saw from her closet and got to work...

* * *

 **In my last big story "Work With Me," Luan has Lincoln's child and it happens to be perfectly normal. A reviewer pointed out how Loudcest babies are always perfectly normal, and they were right, so...here we are. This is not connected to the Nazi Lisa stories AberrantScript have been doing. I just randomly turn her into a Nazi in my more...outlandish works as a joke.**


	24. Nazi Lisa Gets Hers

**This is not connected to mine and AberrantScript's Nazi Lisa stories. I just wanted to see her get what she has coming so I wrote this.**

* * *

Lisa Loud stepped into the time machine and, with an electric flash, she was carried back through the decades. She clenched her eyes closed, and did not open them until another flash burned against her lids. When she opened them, she was standing in front of the German State Building on the warm afternoon of May 12, 1938. Swastika banners and flags hung from every surface, and she smiled giddily.

Inside, she went to a desk manned by a woman with blonde hair and said, in German, "I must see the leader, it is of the utmost importance."

The woman looked at her strangely. "I am sorry, little girl, but you cannot see the leader. He is in an important meeting."

"I must," Lisa replied, "it is a matter of national security."

The woman sighed. "I will fetch him when his meeting is over. Meanwhile, you may sit in the lobby."

Muttering angrily, Lisa went into the lobby and sat in a chair. She picked up a magazine from the table and looked at the date: September 1937. Even waiting rooms in the 1930s were full of old magazines.

She waited for nearly two hours, her impatience growing, before a man in a crisp uniform with lightning bolts on the collars came in. "You have requested to see the leader?" he asked.

"Yes," Lisa said, "I have important information."

"Come with me."

The man led her through the building and up a set of stairs. Lisa was like a kid in a candy shop, looking around all agog. She couldn't believe that she was actually here, in the Third Reich...it was paradise on earth.

Finally, the man led her through a set of gleaming oaken doors and into a wide, tastefully appointed office. When Lisa saw Hitler sitting behind a desk, her knees went weak. He was so handsome and proud and charismatic.

"This girl claims to have information that you must hear," the man said.

Hitler nodded. "Very well." He looked at Lisa and smiled warmly. "Sit, little girl." He gestured to a chair in front of the desk.

Lisa came to the chair and sat down. "I am a great admirer of yours, my leader. You inspire me each day to fight against the scourge of Jews and Bolshevists."

Hitler waved his hand demurely. "I am but an organizer. The real hero is the German people. You are not German. Your accent sounds English."

"Unfortunately I am an American. I..." here Lisa faltered. "I am a time traveler from the year 2017."

Hitler's brow crinkled. "A time traveler?"

"Yes," Lisa said. "I live in dire times. Recently America elected a Negro as president."

Hitler gasped.

"I, thankfully, missed the majority of his presidency. We are back on the right track, however. Donald Trump is the president now, and he is a great man."

Hitler blinked.

"I am not here about that. I am here to urge you to not invade Poland."

A look of suspicion crossed Hitler's face. "How did you know I...?"

"What is a state secret now is ancient history in 2017."

Hitler shrugged one shoulder. "I suppose."

"Invading Poland will lead directly to the fall of the Third Reich. Britain and France will declare war, the Japanese will attack America and you will declare war on them...the US, I mean...and you will invade the Soviet Union. Germany will enjoy great initial success, but the tide of the war will turn, and we will lose. The Russians will overrun Berlin and the other allies will liberate the rest of Europe. You will commit suicide."

 _"Suicide?"_

"Yes."

For a moment Hitler glared at her, and Lisa felt a twinge of fear.

"You are insane, little girl. The Third Reich will last a thousand years, and the Aryan race will conquer the globe."

"But, leader..."

"No," Hitler held up his hand, "you are a blithering madwoman and I will tolerate your presence no longer." He looked over Lisa's shoulder. "Hans, take this mental defect to a concentration camp."

The man grabbed Lisa.

"Please, no! Don't put me with the Jews!"

But they did, and she shared their fate.

On April 30, 1945, as Hitler sat in his bunker, the barrel of a gun in his mouth, he wondered if maybe he shouldn't have listened to that crazy little girl...


	25. Last Day of School 2

**For everyone who wanted a sequel to "Last Day of School," here it is. And just to be clear, my last story featuring Nazi Lisa was in no way connected to mine and AberrantScript's Nazi Lisa series. "Nazi Lisa" is a generic character architype that pops up in many different works of mine that aren't related, much like the real Lisa. And to answer a question someone asked a while back that I forgot to answer, yes, Zyklon B is** _ **very**_ **deadly.**

* * *

Lincoln aimed the handgun at Mr. Spenser, the sixth grade science teacher, and pulled the trigger: The man fell back against a table and dropped to the floor, his face crinkling in pain.

Across the library, Clyde's Uzi rattled, and someone screamed. Lincoln went around the bookshelf and watched as Mrs. Jones, the librarian, staggered to the front desk, he hands clutched to her stomach: She trailed blood as she went.

Lincoln raised the gun. "Hey, Mrs. Jones!"

The woman spun, her face pale and drawn. When she saw Lincoln, her eyes widened.

"Here's that late fee I owe you!" He pulled the trigger, and she jerked back, hitting the desk and sliding down, her chin lolling against her chest. Lincoln laughed.

Behind him, someone whimpered, and he turned: Cristina was huddled under a table, her arms held protectively over her face. Lincoln flashed a grin. Once upon a time he liked her, but then a video of him kissing a picture of her surfaced online (okay...he posted it) and you know what? She transferred entirely out of his class. _That_ hurt his feelings.

Sauntering like Mick Swagger, swigging his hips and shaking his ass, Lincoln went over and knelt. She looked up, and drew away with a strangled cry.

"Hey, don't be like that," he said softly. "I'm not gonna hurt you, I just wanna ask you something."

She watched him with wide eyes. Her face was as pale as Mrs. Jones's; Lincoln scanned her but didn't see any wounds. Her lips worked as though she were trying to gather saliva to either spit or swallow. Which she preferred, well...the world may never know.

"Can I ask you something?"

She nodded jerkily.

Lincoln touched the barrel of the gun to his chest and grinned. "Am I really _that_ fucking bad?" He tittered. "I know I'm goofy looking, but am I really so bad that you had to transfer to a _different_ class? Holy shit. Am I the Elephant Man or the something?"

She shook her head and tried to speak, but her lips trembled and she started to cry. Lincoln smiled as she buried her face in her hands. "You know, that legitimately hurt my feelings. I mean, I could take it if you don't like me back, whatever, that's life...but _wow_ , why didn't you just spit in my face?"

"I'm sorry," she moaned.

"Are you?" Lincoln asked. She nodded.

Using the barrel of the gun, he moved her hair out of her face. Terror brimmed in her tearful eyes. "You're really sorry?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Alright," Lincoln said. "That's all I needed to hear."

He got up and started to turn, but stopped and knelt again. "Just kidding," he said, jammed the gun against her stomach, and pulled the trigger. She fell back with a moan.

Kneeling there with his arms crossed on his knee, Lincoln laughed so hard he cried. It was funny because for a second there she thought he was going to let her live!

"Hey, buddy!" Clyde called, coming over.

"Clyde, my man," Lincoln said, standing. "Body count?"

"I just got five over in the fiction section," Clyde said.

"I got three over here," Lincoln replied, "not counting Mrs. Jones."

"Yeah, we'll split her."

They were trying to keep count, but that went out the window the moment they came through the front door and opened fire: The hall was packed with kids, and after the initial burst, they were heaped two and three deep in places. As they advanced, Lincoln shot a few of the survivors in the head. He didn't get all of them, though, because when they reached the library he could still hear moaning.

If he had to guess, he'd say they got at least twenty, and probably a dozen were wounded.

"You wanna stick together or split up?" Clyde asked.

Lincoln thought for a moment. "Spilt up. We'll cover more ground that way. You go back toward the office and I'll go toward the gym."

"Alright," Clyde nodded. "Godspeed, brother."

"You too."

In the hall, Clyde went right and worked his way back toward the double doors. The office was on the left. Lincoln started left, the gun clasped in his hands and pointed at the ground like they did in video games. He crept, moving slowly, sniffing the air. At an intersection, a boy with a backwards baseball cap appeared, and Lincoln raised the gun. The kid saw him and paled.

"Looks like someone took a wrong turn," Lincoln grinned, and pulled the trigger. The kid flew back against the wall and slid down. Lincoln passed him, and paused at the trophy case. Shelves were crammed with the accomplishments of children past. The state basketball championship of 1978, the baseball championship of 1981, the girls' football championship of 2015. His sister Lynn was on that team; everyone was _soooo_ proud.

He flashed as he remembered all the times he tried to accomplish something in life and failed. He brought up his elbow and rammed it into the case's glass façade. He was numb to the feeling of flesh ripping. He reached in, snatched the trophy, and slammed it against the floor. The golden football separated from the pedestal and rolled away. He grabbed another trophy and flung it against a locker. His teeth were bared and his chest was heaving. He grabbed another, and another, and another. Soon broken trophies littered the floor. He drew back his foot and kicked one; it skitted across the tiles. Fuck your football, fuck your baseball, fuck your accomplishments!

Getting himself back under control, he stalked to the gym.

In the front office, Clyde found Miss Ames, the guidance counselor, crouching behind a desk, a phone pressed to her ear. Tears streamed down her face. He could hear sirens outside. The cops were here.

She saw him and screamed, dropping the phone and falling onto her ass. Clyde smiled at the look of terror in her face. "C-Clyde..."

"Hi, Miss Ames," he said happily. "Nice day for a school shooting, isn't it?"

"C-C-Clyde..."

He aimed the Uzi at her.

"Clyde, I'm your friend!"

Clyde laughed. "I have no friends."

He pulled the trigger, and she jerked.

"Not even Lincoln."

Speaking of Lincoln, Clyde was getting tired of shooting unarmed normies. He wanted a _challenge_.

In the gym, Lincoln had much the same thought, and a smile flashed across his face. In the hall, he pressed himself flat against the wall and held the gun pointed down. At the end of the hall, he could see emergency beacons flashing through the windows. When Clyde emerged from the office, Lincoln ducked behind a plastic cart filled with dodgeballs.

"Oh, Lincoln!" Clyde called in a singsong voice. "Where are you?"

Lincoln popped out from behind the cart and fired: The bullet slammed into a fire extinguisher clamped to the wall. "Right here, buddy!"

Clyde dropped to a crouch and moved slowly forward. "Come on out! I got a new game we can play!"

Lincoln got to his knees, raised the gun over the cart, and fired. Clyde ducked as the bullet smashed into the front window, which exploded. He raised the Uzi and pressed the trigger. Lincoln ducked as bullets whizzed all around him. He barked mad laughter and slammed a fresh clip into the handle. He had never felt so alive, so full of energy.

Clyde opened fire again, and bullets ripped through the cart, some passing so close to Lincoln's head he could feel the wind. Tensing, he darted across the hall at a crouch, bullets striking the floor in front of him, and threw himself into a doorway. When he heard the telltale click of an empty gun, he ducked out and pulled the trigger. Clyde cried out and dropped onto his ass as a round struck him in the arm.

Lincoln was standing now, using the doorway for cover. "I'm gonna get you!" he cried, and popped out again, his face falling when he saw a snub-nosed revolver in Clyde's hands. He started to yell, but a bullet hit him in the leg, and he went down with a breathless _umpf_ instead. Fire snaked up into his brain. He scrambled back to the doorway on his hands and knees. Sitting against the wall, he laughed again. "That hurt, you son of a bitch!" he cried.

"This doesn't feel too good either!" Clyde yelled back. He hissed as, presumably, he got to his feet. "How about we call a truce and fight the cops instead?"

"You're not getting me with _that_ one," Lincoln laughed.

"Eh. It was worth a _shot_. Get it?"

They both screamed laughter; tears welled in Lincoln's eyes. "Hey, Clyde, stop joking _a round_."

Clyde howled. "That was pretty good, Linc. You should write it down and send it to a _magazine_."

Lincoln's sides split as he doubled over.

"Hey, hey, hey...would they publish the whole thing," Lincoln asked, "or just a _clip_?"

Clyde fell to the floor and drew his knees to his chest as he wailed laughter. "You're a funny guy," he said when he finally recovered. "You hit the stand-up circuit and you'd be number one with a _bullet_."

"Stop! Stop! I'm gonna piss myself!"

When the cops found them, they were both bleeding profusely and crying tears of laughter...


	26. Oy Vey

A cabal of evil Jewish Communist Globalists were gathered in a synagogue to plot the downfall of the White Race; big noses and beady eyes abounded. The lead Jew wore a long black robe and a yarmulke. His shoulders were slumped and his hands wrung evily. He glided around like a demonic spirit, chuckling maniacally. Aside from him, there were dozens of others in the room, most of them dressed in _Hasidic_ clothing: Black suits, white shirts, and black, wide-brimmed hats. Someone dropped a penny by the punch bowl, and two Jews fought over it.

The meeting hall was decorated with balloons, streamers, and a big banner reading WORLD DOMINATION NOW! A giant pink cake sat on a table.

The lead Jew floated over to the cake and turned to the assembly. "Friends and fellow Jews!" he cried. "Lend me your ear!"

"I don't lend, I rent!" someone called back, and everyone laughed.

"Today we begin the final push to unseat the proud Aryan race and taint his pure bloodline. We will make this a Jewish paradise. Prices will be high! Matzos will be available on every corner! Passover will never end!"

The Jews all cheered.

"Now, let's have some of that cake. It's free."

He turned, just as a little girl with long brown hair and glasses jumped out of the cake. A startled cry went up. She was wearing camouflage pants, a gray tank top, and a red bandanna tied around her forehead. On it was a white circle containing a black swastika. She held a giant machine gun.

"Oh, no!" the lead Jew cried, throwing up his hand, "not Nazi Lisa!"

"Shalom," Nazi Lisa said, and opened fire, spraying the evil Jews with righteous Aryan fury.

* * *

"Lisa," Lincoln sighed, "that never happened."

"Yes, it did."

"No, it didn't."

"I'm telling you, Lincoln, it happened just yesterday," Lisa said, crossing her arms. She was wearing her signature Nazi armband.

"You didn't even leave the house yesterday," Lincoln pointed out.

Lisa sighed. "Maybe it was the day before."

"You were at the doctor's that day."

"I forget when it was!" Lisa snapped. "It happened, though."

Lincoln nodded. "Whatever you say, sis."

"I saved the White Race."

Lincoln mussed his sister's hair. "Sure you did, Lise, sure you did."


	27. Lincoln vs Lynn

**Sequel to No Training Needed. Dedicated to AberrantScript, as this story was inspired by the same conversation I assume inspired his "I Am Not a Pervert!" If you haven't read it yet, seriously, do so ASAP. Dude's a beast.**

* * *

Lincoln was sitting in the armchair in the living room, his leg hooked over one side, when Lynn came in and put her hands on her hips. "Yo, Linc."

"What?" Lincoln asked without looking up from his comic.

"You're a _bitch_."

Lincoln glanced up at his sister, his brow furrowing. She was wearing a taunting smile. His eyes instantly went to the gap where a tooth had been the previous afternoon before she provoked him into knocking it out.

He opened his mouth to say something, but shook his head and looked back at his comic instead. It wasn't worth it.

"I bet you have a small dick, too." She snatched a pillow from the sofa and tossed it at him. It hit the comic dead center: It ripped, and he was left with a shred of paper in each hand.

He looked up at his sister. She crossed her arms and smiled defiantly.

For a moment, he simply sat there, then, with a cry, he launched himself out of the chair and threw himself at her, driving his shoulder into her stomach and knocking her back. They crashed to the floor, him on top; her eyes danced with malicious light and the corners of her lips were turned up. "That was a brand new comic book, you dumb bitch!" he cried, grabbing her shirt in both hands and shaking her. Her grin widened. "What...?"

Without warning, she drew her head back and rammed it forward: Her forehead connected with his mouth, and he felt a sickening crunch and tasted blood. Hot agony filled his brain, and his hands instantly went to his face, whereupon Lynn rolled and mounted him, pinning him between her knees. "Payback's a bitch, huh, Lincy?" she purred.

Lincoln flashed and backhanded her across the face. She cried out and lost her balance. He capitalized by turning and throwing her off. She landed in a heap, and before she could recover, he had his forearm around her neck in a chokehold. If she wanted a fight, he'd give her a fight she'd never forget.

Thrashing, she reached back, found his nose, grabbed, and twisted. Lincoln cried out and let go. She drove her elbow back into his stomach, spun, and punched him in the chest. The air rushed out of him, and he crashed to the floor, where he curled up in a ball. Blood gushed from his mouth. Uttering a mocking laugh, Lynn stood over him to gloat, her hands on her hips.

"You can't beat me, Linc. I'm..."

He shot his arm out, grabbed her ankle, and yanked. With a "Whoa!" she fell on her ass. Lincoln got to his knees, but before he could get her, she brought her foot up and kicked him in the face. He saw stars, and the world went gray. He fell limply against the carpet and lay there, bleeding.

Lynn panted.

"Jesus Christ, Lynn!" Lori cried.

Lynn jerked a glance at her sister. She was standing at the edge of the couch, one hand over her mouth. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," Lynn panted. "Me and Linc were just wrestling."

On the floor, Lincoln moaned.

Lori shook her head and held up her hand. "Whatever. Not my problem."

* * *

 _Uh-oh!_

It was Saturday morning, two days after Mom grounded her for getting blood all over the carpet (it was Lincoln who got blood on the carpet, but whatever) and as soon as Lynn came awake, she knew one thing: She had to get to the bathroom. Her bladder was bursting and one wrong move was all it would take to open the floodgates.

She rolled out of bed and waddled into the hall. Please don't be a line, please don't be a line...

There wasn't. Yes! She went to the door and tried the knob, but it was locked. No! She banged on the door.

"I'm pooping!" Lana called.

"Hurry up, I'm gonna piss myself!"

"Uh...I'll try, but there's a _lot_ of poop in my butt."

Ugh! Lynn jammed both hands between her legs and danced from one foot to the other. Her eyeballs were practically floating.

"Hey, Lynn," Lincoln said, coming up behind her. "Are...you okay?"

"I have to pee _soooo_ bad," she moaned.

"Oh," Lincoln said.

Lynn jumped back and forth, back and forth. "It's like..."

Her words became a yell as Lincoln's fist crashed into her side, hitting her kidneys dead on. She dropped to her knees, and her bladder released: Hot piss filled her underwear.

"Oops," Lincoln said, "looks like _someone_ had an accident."

Suddenly all nine of her sisters were there, laughing and pointing as she fought to catch her breath. "The widdle baby wet herself," Lola said.

"Mom is going to _flip_ when she sees what you did to the carpet," Lori said.

"LOL," Leni said, "Lynn peed in her underwear like a baby."

On her knees, her arms wrapped around her stomach and her chest heaving, her underwear saturated with piss, Lynn blushed.

"You're far too old for such incidences," Lisa said, shaking her head. "I suggest purchasing a pack of adult diapers from the pharmacy."

"Shut up," Lynn said breathlessly.

"Hey, Lynn," Luan said, putting a hand on Lynn's shoulder and leaning in, her eyes dancing with a taunting light, " _wet's_ up?"

Lynn threw her arm out and knocked Luan back as everyone laughed. When her eyes fell on Lincoln, standing there with his arms crossed and a cocky grin on his face, she growled. "You're dead meat."

"What are you going to do," Lucy asked, "drown him in piss?"

Everyone laughed.

"STOP MOCKING ME!"

They laughed harder.

Oh, he was _so_ going to pay.

* * *

It happened the next evening. Lincoln was sitting on the couch, engrossed in the new episode of ARRGH when Lynn crept down the stairs, pausing at one point and lifting her head over the bannister, a vicious smile crossing her face. _Target acquired_.

On her tippy-toes, she slunk down the rest of the stairs, and dropped to a crouch, moving as silently as a shadow. Someone on TV screamed, and Lincoln let out a girlish wail. The poor, dumb bastard had no idea what was coming. Her grin widened and she pressed herself against the back of the couch. When she was right behind him, she took a deep breath, then popped up. In one fluid motion, she grabbed his little cowlick with one hand and slapped him, hard, in the ear with the other. "Hey, Linc," she cried, "suck any good dicks lately?"

Lincoln screamed and toppled over. Lynn held her stomach and laughed, tears coming to her eyes. "You gotta be aware of your surr –"

Moving quicker than he had any right to, Lincoln jumped up and flung something at her: For a terrible moment, Lynn watched the remote turn end-over-end as if in slow motion...then it whacked her in the nose, and hot pain exploded in her skull. Her hands flew to her face, and they were immediately bathed in hot, sticky blood.

"You _bastard!_ " she screamed. Before she knew what she was doing, she was jumping over the back of the couch, her hands out. She crashed into Lincoln, and they both fell to the floor. She grabbed a handful of his shirt and popped him in his eye. He reached up, snatched her hair, and yanked her head to the side. Drops of blood fell from her nose and splattered his face. "Get off, bitch!" he yelled, and rolled, crushing her beneath his weight.

" _You_ get off, fag!" she screamed, bringing her fist around: It hit him in the cheek. His head whipped, and she rolled to her right, getting on top of him once more. She drew her fist back and slammed it into his nose, which burst. He screamed and brought his knee up: It hit her in the crotch, and pain enveloped her nether regions. She cried out and he threw himself forward, sitting and pushing her back. She hit the couch, and he punched her in the chin; her head flopped back, and then down again just in time for his fist to connect with her bottom lip, splitting it.

A burst of adrenaline shot through her, and she came alive, punching him in the chest. He fell back against the floor with a strangled cry. She crawled on top of him, grabbed his shirt, and leaned close to his face. "You little _shit_ ," she spat. He looked at her with animal eyes.

No one made the first move...it was mutual. One moment they were staring each other down, the next they were kissing passionately, their tongues wrestling as a mixture of blood and saliva passed from one mouth to the other and back again. His hands were in her hair, pulling, and Lynn gasped against his lips. She raked her nails down the side of his face, and a shiver wracked his body. She could feel a bulge beginning to form in his pants, and she ground her crotch against it, fire spreading through her stomach.

Without warning, Lincoln wrapped his arms around her and rolled, pinning her underneath him. He slipped his hands under her shirt and gripped her hips as he rubbed himself against her. She pulled away from his lips and threw her head back, a hiss escaping her lips. He kissed the side of her face and her neck. When his teeth sank into her shoulder, she cried out, and her underwear went damp.

She shoved him off and sat up, her chest heaving. They locked eyes.

"Race you upstairs," she said with a grin.

"You're _on_."

This was a race they would run many, many times in the future.


	28. A Good Brother

Roberto Santiago was fighting to keep his eyelids from drooping and losing. He reached under the desk and pinched his leg through his jeans, but all that did was making him sleepy _and_ hurty.

At the front of the room, Mrs. Robertson stood before a whiteboard and attempted to coax the class through a particularly difficult equation. She had a voice like a beehive. Droning. That didn't help matters. Bobby blinked and crossed his arms. Alright, man, focus, you can _not_ afford to flunk this class. His lids were _sooo_ heavy, though. How about this: I'll close my eyes, but keep my ears and brain open. Yeah. Okay. He closed his eyes, and before he knew it Mrs. Robertson was shaking him awake. "If you'd like to nap, Mr. Santiago, there's a _very_ comfortable couch in Principal Everline's office."

The entire class laughed at him, and he felt an inch tall. "Sorry, Mrs. Roberson," he said and smiled sheepishly. "Won't happen again."

"Good."

She went back in front of the class and _somehow_ he made it through the rest of the period without falling asleep. His next class was study hall, then, home. As he tried to focus on his homework, his mind drifted. He couldn't do this much longer. Sure, he had a responsibility, but this staying up all night shit was really affecting him. How could he break it to her, though?

At the end of the day, he grabbed his books from his locker, shoved them into his backpack, and then went home, his shoulders slumped and his mind fuzzy. At several points he thought he was literally going to fall face-first against the sidewalk...if he did, he wouldn't be getting up anytime soon.

When he got home, he hung his bag from the hook behind the door and tried to sneak into his room for some shut eye, but Ronnie Anne's voice drifted into the hall. "Hey, Bobby, that you?"

His shoulders slumped. "Yes, it's me," he sighed.

"Good. Come here."

Great. Just perfect. There goes my nap.

But he was a good brother and his sister needed him. In her room, he found her leaning back on her bed, naked save for a pair of purple socks pulled up to her knees. Her hair was held up in a ponytail. Her legs were spread, revealing her pink, glistening sex, and her tiny nipples were rock hard. She grinned at him with half-lidded eyes. "Hey."

"Hi," he said flatly, his hands working at his belt automatically. He unbuckled it, and his pants dropped to his ankles. Ronnie Anne watched him with lust-filled eyes, a seductive smile playing across her lips.

Bobby stepped out of his pants and then slid his boxers down, his flaccid penis flopping limply out and lying against his sack. Ronnie Anne's tongue darted out and swiped across her bottom lip, putting him in mind of a reptile.

Naked from the waist down, Bobby grabbed his penis and tugged on it until it was semi hard, then he went to his sister. She lifted one leg with a playful grin and he hooked his arm around it, the head of his dick poking her leaking hole.

He closed his eyes and swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. Like he did every time he had sex with Ronnie Anne, he thought of Lori. When he was hard enough, he thrusted into his sister; her wet, silky insides formed around him and he had to pretend _extra_ hard that he was doing his girlfriend and not his sister.

Ronnie Anne didn't last long – she never did during their after school tryst. Eight hours of building pressure makes a girl cum _very_ quickly, apparently; Bobby thought that only happened to dudes. When he felt his own climax forming, he pulled out and finished himself: His cum splattered Ronnie Anne's face and breasts. He didn't look, but he knew her mouth was wide open and her tongue stuck out, desperate to catch a drop.

Done, he turned, grabbed his pants and underwear, and left without a word.

In his room, he laid back on his bed and put his hands behind his head. When your sister's a raging nymphomaniac and not getting laid every couple hours makes her depressed and physically _hurts_ her, what's a good brother to do?

If only she wouldn't keep him up half the night...


	29. Bedtime Story

Lori came out of the bathroom and yawned. It was past midnight and she was ready to hit the hay.

As she passed Lisa's room, however, the little girl called out, "Lori? A moment, please?"

Lori sighed. She went in, and found Lisa standing next to her bed. She was wearing a long night shirt and a cap emblazoned with tiny swastikas and clutching a thick hardback book in her hands.

"What do you want?" Lori asked, crossing her arms.

"I was wondering," Lisa said nervously, looking down at the bed, "if, perhaps, you could read me a bedtime story."

Lori's furrowed brow softened. With Lisa being a genius (and a committed Nazi), it was hard to forget that she was a little girl. "Alright," Lori said.

Lisa smiled broadly, and Lori's heart swelled. "Thank you."

Lisa climbed into bed and got under the covers. Lori sat next to her and took the book when Lisa handed it to her: A pink slip of paper stuck out of it. "That's the passage I would like to hear," Lisa said.

"Alright," Lori said, and opened to that page. She started reading: "The black-haired Jewish youth lies in wait for hours on end, satanically glaring at and spying on the unsuspicious girl whom he plans to seduce, adulterating her blood and removing her from the bosom of her own people..." her brow crinkled. She turned to her sister. "What the hell is this?"

" _Mein Kampf._ "

Lori sighed and rolled her eyes.

"More, please."

Shaking her head, Lori continued: "The Jew uses every possible means to undermine the racial foundations of a subjugated people. In his systematic efforts to ruin girls and women he strives to break down the last barriers of discrimination between him and other peoples. The Jews were responsible for bringing negroes into the Rhineland, with the ultimate idea of bastardizing the white race which they hate and thus lowering its cultural and political level so that the Jew might dominate. For as long as a people remain racially pure and are conscious of the treasure of their blood, they can never be overcome by the Jew. Never in this world can the Jew become master of any people except a bastardized people." When she was done she looked as though she had ingested something incredibly foul.

She glanced over at Lisa, and the little girl was curled up on her side, fast asleep. Lori couldn't help but smile.

"You're a total creep," she said, then leaned in and kissed her forehead. "But I love you."


	30. To Catch a Lincoln

A modern, tastefully appointed kitchen with black appliances, marble countertops, and skylight letting in the warm afternoon sunshine. A knock sounds at the back door, and a little girl, no older than four, and dressed in a pink bath robe, crosses to it. She has short brown hair and hazel eyes.

She turns the knob and the door comes open. "Hi," she says shyly, stepping aside. A boy in an orange polo shirt smiles, greets her, and steps in. His hair is white and his cheeks are covered in freckles.

"You can get a juice box from the fridge," the girl says, "I just have to finish getting ready."

While she goes into a different room, he sits at the breakfast bar and looks appreciatively around. He's reaching for an apple in a basket when a door opens and a man in a suit steps out.

Lincoln freezes.

"How you doing?" the man asks with a nod.

Lincoln's heart races. The girl was supposed to be alone. "Uh...I'm, uh, I'm good."

The man holds up a sheaf of papers. "Good. So what brings you here today?"

Lincoln looks stricken, his mouth working spasmodically as he tries to come up with a convincing lie. "We, we, we're just gonna play some video games."

"Oh?" the man asks, lifting an eyebrow. "That's what your chat log here says."

Lincoln's eyes widened. "That's not me."

"Oh? You're not BigSasusageLinc06?"

Paling, Lincoln shakes his head. When he speaks, his voice is very small. "Nope."

The man lays the papers down on the counter and leans in. "You didn't come here expecting sex with a minor today?"

"No."

"Ah," the man says, looking down at the paper. "Some of your messages made it seem like you were." He scans the papers, then begins to read: "Hey, girl, have you ever wondered what it's like to be with a real man?"

Lincoln holds up his hand. "T-That could mean _anything_."

"Oh? What about 'I'm going to nail you harder than the Romans nailed Jesus.' Or 'By the end of our playdate you're going to be calling me daddy.'" The man looks up. "You're telling me you didn't come here for sex with a four-year-old girl?"

"I thought she was nine," Lincoln blurts.

The man bows his head over the paper. "'How old are you?' 'I'm four lol' 'Four's a good age.' 'Why? lol' 'Because I have a four-year-old sister I dream of having sex with every night.'"

Lincoln buries his face in his hands. Oh, man.

"'You have a sister?' 'Yeah, ten. Five older ones and five younger ones. The older ones are okay but my little sisters are really sexy. Maybe you can pretend I'm your big brother as I stick it to you.' 'Have you ever done anything with them?' 'No, they're frigid bitches.'"

The man sets the paper down. "Pretty incriminating, isn't it?"

"It was a mistake," Lincoln says quickly. "I-I-I wasn't thinking straight. Okay? I'm sorry. Please don't take me to jail."

The man touches his hand to his chest. "Well, I'm not going to take you to jail, I'm actually Chris Hansen with Dateline NBC, and you're on To Catch A Predator."

Men with cameras swarm the kitchen; Lincoln swears one even came from under the sink.

Feeling ten inches tall, Lincoln gets up and hurries out of the house. His mom and dad were going to be _so_ pissed when they saw him on TV.

He was crossing the backyard when someone grabbed his arm and wrenched: He cried out and sank to his knees. "Police," a gruff voice says, "you're under arrest."

Lincoln started to cry.


	31. Talking Trash

Lincoln was sitting on the floor, his back against his bed and his legs crossed, a video game controller in his hands and earphones over his head. He was playing Call of Honor 8 on X-Box Live with Clyde, Rusty Spokes, and Poppa Wheelie. On the screen, a bullet hit Clyde's character, and he died, leaving Lincoln alone.

" _Booya!"_ Poppa cried into Lincoln's ears. _"Take_ that, _bitch!"_

" _Aw, man,"_ Clyde said.

" _I just dominated your ass!"_

Lincoln sighed. He _hated_ playing X-Box Live with Poppa because Poppa did nothing but talk shit the _whole_ time. Seriously, Lincoln heard him in his sleep sometimes.

" _I beat you like a red-headed stepchild!"_

" _Hey,"_ Rusty said, _"that hurts my feelings."_

" _Fuck you, bitch. You're not even pulling your weight. Shut up. You're worse than Loud."_

"Fuck you," Lincoln said.

On the screen, Clyde had ten seconds before he respawned.

" _You better hope your boyfriend respawns before I find you, Loud."_

Gritting his teeth, Lincoln pushed the B button, and his guy ducked behind a shattered section of wall. Ahead, muzzle flashes gave away someone's position.

Heart pounding, Lincoln popped up and opened fire. Rusty's character went down.

" _Damn it."_

" _Just you and me, Loud, you little buck-tooth faggot!"_

Lincoln started to throw a grenade, but a bullet hit him and he fell, his health meter almost completely drained. "No!" He tried to crawl away, but the grenade detonated, and he was blown to bits. Poppa's mocking laughter rang through his head.

" _You're a joke, Loud! I didn't even kill you, you killed yourself! You suck so bad!"_

Lincoln snapped. "I'm gonna whip your ass tomorrow at school, you fat fuck!"

Poppa laughed. _"Speaking of fuck, remember that day we came over to hang out with Lynn...who's so much cooler than you, by the way? Yeah, I fucked your mom!"_

"No you didn't!"

" _Yes I did! I blew my load in her pussy!"_

" _Dude,"_ Rusty said, _"leave his mom out of it."_

" _Yeah,"_ Clyde agreed, _"you're really going overboard this time."_

" _Hahahahaha! I fucked Lincoln's mom!"_

Lincoln ripped the headphones off and they broke; the sound of Poppa's laughter filled the room.

At that moment, Mom appeared in the doorway. "Honey, I need you to –" she froze when she heard Poppa laughing. "Is that Poppa Wheelie?"

Lincoln blinked. "Uh...yeah..."

Like a shot, Mom was on her knees, the broken headphones in her hands. "Poppa! It's Rita!"

Poppa's laughter died.

"Why aren't you returning my texts? I'm pregnant...and it's yours!"

" _Holy shit!"_

Lincoln had never seen someone log out of X-Box Live so fast.

" _Uh..."_ Clyde said.

" _My...uh...my mom's calling me,"_ Rusty said, _"later!"_

Rita Loud wept as Lincoln squirmed uncomfortably. "Poppa...come back to me..."


	32. Accidents Happen

**I wrote this one a while back and completely forgot about it...so here it is.**

* * *

Lincoln Loud was taking a fat piss when someone knocked on the bathroom door. Ugh. Every time he was in here, _every time,_ someone else suddenly needed to go. It didn't matter if he was taking a leak, a dump, brushing his teeth, showering, or just standing in the middle of the room, testing fate.

"Wait," he called out.

The knock came again, more insistent. When he didn't answer, the doorknob rattled. Come _on!_

Sighing, he shook his thing, zipped up his pants, and opened the door. "Impatient muc-?"

Someone tackled him, knocking him to the floor; his head bounced of the tiles, and red stars burst across his field of vision. He cried out.

"Hey, Lincy," Leni said with half-lidded eyes. She grabbed a handful of his shirt and raised him to her lips. Coming alive, he flailed his arms.

"Get off!"

"Duh, I'm _trying_."

"Leni!"

Lincoln jerked his head. Lisa and Lori snatched Leni by the back of the shirt and dragged her off, her eyes going wide. "Stop!" she yelled, thrashing, "I wanna do him!"

Lincoln sat up, gasping for breath. Lori snaked her arm around Leni's neck and yanked her away, into Lisa's room. "I'll thank you to not mention this...ahem...episode to anyone," Lisa said, adjusting her glasses.

"W-What was _it?"_

Lisa sighed. "Leni asked me to help increase her neurological functions in preparation for an upcoming math test, and instead of increasing her intelligence I accidentally increased her sex drive."

Lincoln gaped.

"You can't win them all," Lisa said.

"Can you fix it?"

"I hope. She already used one of my beakers to...pleasure herself (she's lucky it didn't shatter), tackled Luan much the same way she did you, and grabbed me by the back of my head and forced my face into her bare groin." Lisa shuddered. "At this rate she'll fuck us out of house and home."

Muttering to herself, Lisa went into her room and closed the door. For a long time, Lincoln sat in the middle of the bathroom floor, rubbing his wounded head and hoping Lisa could fix Leni: His skull couldn't take a blow like _that_ again.


	33. Lincoln's Bad Morning

**Something I wrote in a few idle minutes a month or so ago. I wasn't going to post it, but I went through it and it** _ **is**_ **kinda funny, so what the hell?**

* * *

 _Beep-beep-beep_.

Lincoln Loud opened one eye and growled. Weak sunlight streamed into the room.

 _Beep-beep-beep._

He rolled over and swept the alarm clock off of his nightstand. He was _not_ into this right now. _God help me, if one of those bitches fucks with me, it's on_.

Sighing, he got out of bed and went out into the hall. No one else was up. Good. He went into the bathroom, pissed, then jacked off. He was just about to finish when someone knocked on the door.

"I have to pee," Lori said, " _now_."

"Fuck off," Lincoln spat.

" _Now!"_

He yanked faster and faster, his teeth bared. Then he was done and the toilet seat was sticky. "All yours," he said as he shoulder-checked Lori and went back to his room. She sighed and went into the bathroom, closing the door.

"Ew! What's this?" he heard her cry.

He grinned.

He was almost back to his room when his dumb bimbo of a sister Luan popped out and blocked the way. He sighed. It was too early for this bitch's shit.

"Hey, Linc, wanna hear a joke?"

"No," he said, and pushed past her.

"Oh, come on, you'll love it!"

That was it. He spun on his heels. "I'm sick of your dumb ass jokes, Luan. You're not funny and you'll never _be_ funny. Why don't you give it up?"

She looked wounded. "Linc..." she started.

"You walk around here like you're the funniest thing ever, but you're lame."

"Well, screw you!"

Lincoln had had it. He hit her with a sick roundhouse kick. Blood and broken teeth flew into the air, and she went down.

"Whoa, bro, way harsh!" Luna cried. She was standing there with her guitar. "You need to chill." She started playing a relaxing melody, but Lincoln snatched it away and swung it, taking out her legs. She dropped.

"Why, bro, why?" she yelled, holding her busted kneecap and rolling back and forth like a turtle.

"I'm sick of your so-called music, you dumb slut." He smashed the guitar against the wall, and the neck popped off. Luna's eyes widened and she reached out. "My ax!"

"I got your ax hanging," Lincoln said, grabbing his crotch.

"Lincoln!"

Lincoln turned. Lori was standing in the bathroom doorway, huffing and hunched like an ape. "I'm going to turn you into a human pretzel!"

She ran at him, but he ducked to one side and held out his foot. She sprawled and hit the carpet face first. Seething, Lincoln mounted her back and started hitting the sides of her head. Left, right, left, right. He was just about to chop her in the throat when someone dragged him off.

"Calm down, Lincoln," Lynn yelled. "What's wrong?"

Lincoln grabbed her hand and spun around. She fell and he gripped her wrist tight. She moaned. "Say uncle!"

"Fuck you!"

He twisted. "Say uncle, bitch!"

"Fuck you, you white-haired homo!"

He twisted again.

"Ahhh! Uncle! Uncle!"

"Say 'Please, Uncle Lincoln!'"

"Please, Uncle Lincoln!"

He twisted, and her wrist snapped. She screamed and flopped around like a fish on a dock.

"Who else wants some?" Lincoln roared, slapping his chest. He spun, and saw Leni peeking out of her door. "You want some of this?" He started toward her, but the door slammed and locked.

Lori, Luna, Luan, and Lynn were all lying on the floor, moaning. Lincoln went over to Lynn, grabbed a handful of her hair, and yanked her head back. " _I_ run this shit!" He let her go then kicked Lori in the side. She jerked and let out a muffled _umf_. "I'm the oldest now!"

"Lincoln Loud!" his dad called up the stairs. "Get your punk ass down here right now!"

"You want some too?"

Lincoln came down the stairs. His father was waiting at the bottom. Before Lincoln could attack, his dad swatted his head. It hit the wall, and he fell down.

"What's wrong with you, Lincoln? You broke Lynn's wrist and beat up your other sisters!"

Lincoln drew himself to a sitting position and shook his head. "If I wanted a kiss, I'd call your mother."

Gritting his teeth, dad ripped off his belt and lashed out. The metal part hit Lincoln in the nuts, and he screamed like a girl. "Daddy, why?"

"Oh, my God," Dad said. "What have I done? Son, I'm sorry!"

Lincoln stopped rolling back and forth and fixed his dad with an evil glare. "Just kidding. You hit like a bitch."

"That's it!" dad yelled. He grabbed Lincoln by the back of his shirt and dragged him through the kitchen. "I want you out of my home _now_! You are no longer welcome here!"

He threw Lincoln out into the morning. "Never talk to me or my daughters again!" He slammed the door.

"Fuck ass bitch," Lincoln said, jumping up. Suddenly, Lucy appeared in front of him. She squatted down, and started circling him, pawing at his crotch and jeans.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"There's a great darkness in you, Lincoln," she said, and knelt before him. "And it turns me _on_."

Lincoln grinned. "Yeah?"

"Very much," she purred.

"Why don't you show me?"

She unzipped his pants and his nine inch monster cock sprung free. "It's more evil than I could have hoped for," she said, then took it in her mouth, gliding wetly up and down the shaft.

"That's right," Lincoln said, throwing his head back and pushing her head closer. "Show me what a thirsty slut you are."

"Lucy!"

Lincoln opened her eyes. Their parents were standing there, mom with her hands on her hips. Dad grabbed Lucy by the back of her dress and pulled her arm. She stuck out her arms and fought back. "No! I want to finish him!"

"You just had your dick in your sister's mouth!" dad said.

"Yeah, now you can take her place." He punched his dad in the nuts, and his dad went down to his knees. Lincoln grabbed two handfuls of his dad's hair and rammed his giant member down his throat.

"How do I taste, daddy?" Lincoln asked, pumping.

Rita Loud watched in shock as her husband was completely humiliated and emasculated, already thinking less of him as a man.

When Lincoln came, his shoved his father away: He curled up in a little ball and commenced crying like the bitch his 11-year-old son had made him. "I'm gonna go live with Ronnie Anne," Lincoln said, walking off. "You guys can go to hell."


	34. Kissing My Brother

Lincoln hopped over the back of the couch and landed next to Lynn. "Yo, Linc!" she cried happily, and slapped his arm with the back of her hand.

"Yo, Lynn," he replied, and slapped _her_ arm with the back of _his_ hand. "What are we watching?"

On TV, a guy with long blonde hair and a beard and a guy with white hair were going at it in a steel cage. "It's this new DVD I got," she said, "best of the WCW. The dude with the long hair's DDP and the one who looks like you is Ric Flair."

"Ha, ha, ha," Lincoln said sarcastically and kicked his feet up onto the coffee table. From the corner of his eye, he caught Lynn giving him one of those appreciative looks he'd come to recognize over the past couple months, and a smile crept across his face.

It started after it came out that he was adopted (Lori, Leni, Luna, and Luan knew, the others did not). He'd come out of his room in the morning like always, in just his undies, and Lynn would look at him like she was a hungry lioness. At first it kind of scared him. Was she, like, suspicious of him because he wasn't really her brother? Was she planning to eat him in the middle of the night to protect her _real_ family from the white-haired interloper?

Then one day he was walking down the hallway at school with Ronnie Anne and ducked into the bathroom. In the mirror over the sink, he had that same look...a hungry look...a _sexual_ look.

God, Lynn wanted to have sex with him! She might not be his sister by blood, but she was still his sister: Like Lori said during the first sibling meeting after it came out, the ties they shared were stronger than blood, and they were his sisters regardless, and he was their brother regardless. Lincoln could _never_ look at Lynn in that way.

Or so he thought.

As time went on, he warmed to the idea. She was certainly attractive, and he always _had_ liked her personality. She was fun, energetic, and confident...three things that he wasn't but wanted to be. He could see himself being with a girl like her...then, after a few months, he could see him being with _her_.

Presently, Lincoln crossed his arms and fought the urge to glance at Lynn. Instead, he watched the match. Ric Flair had DDP in the corner and delivered a series of devastating chops to his midsection, letting out a frenzied "Woooooo!" after each one. Every blow made DDP jump...literally, he jumped to make it look like Flair's hits were rocking his block when they really weren't. "This shit looks so fake," Lincoln snorted.

"Yeah?" Lynn asked.

"Yeah," Lincoln said. He put his hands up. "I mean..."

Lynn chopped him hard in the chest with the back of his hand, and he jumped. "Ow!"

"Was _that_ fake?" she asked with a gleam in her eye.

Lincoln flashed and spun on her. "You play too goddamn rough sometimes!"

He was surprised when she glanced down instead of challenging him. "Sorry."

Huh?

She looked up at him, her bottom lip stuck out. "I didn't mean to hurt my Stinky-Lincy-Winky."

Lincoln shook his head and she laughed. "Whatever," he said.

For a while they sat in silence, Lincoln's gaze wandering and landing on his sister. Her thick chestnut hair drawn back in a ponytail...her big, soft brown eyes...her freckled cheeks...her budding breasts pushing against the fabric of her jersey. His heart started beating quicker and his tongue unconsciously darted out and swiped across his bottom lip. She _was_ cute. Really cute. And...what was the word...charismatic?

He caught her looking at him a couple times, and he saw in her face what she must have seen in his.

Screw this. Be bold, Linc, Lynn's the kind of girl who likes that kind of thing. He turned and looked her full-on in the face. "Do you wanna French kiss?"

Her mouth turned up in a mischievous half-grin. "I thought you'd never ask." She threw herself at him and her lips mashed against his. He opened his mouth, and her tongue slipped boldly in. He flicked his across hers, and for a moment they grappled as sure as DDP and Ric Flair were grappling on TV.

She drew back, a shadow crossing her face and her brow furrowing.

Lincoln smacked his lips. "How was it?" he asked.

Lynn swished like she a mouthful of Listerine. "Honestly...it was like kissing my brother."

Lincoln nodded slowly. "Yeah, let's not do that again."

She pulled away and he sat up. Ugh, his mouth tasted like hers. Gross.

For a long time neither one of them spoke, the silence heavy and tense between them. Then, just when Lincoln was starting to think his relationship with his sister was forever ruined, she chopped the shit out of his chest. "Woooooo!"

"God _damn_ it!" he cried.

"Uh-oh!"

She leapt off the couch and started to run; Lincoln jumped up and gave chase. They were both laughing when they hit the backyard.

Blood or not, Lynn loved her brother...and he loved her too.


	35. I Visit The Loud House

**This is a parody of self-insert fanfictions. It was originally published as a standalone piece, so you might have read it. There are sequels that I will post as well.**

* * *

I stumble off the sidewalk and sink to my knees in dry summer grass. My head's spinning and I grab at the tuft to keep from flying away. Damn. That Fireball don't play.

For the past two hours, I've been walking around this stupid little town waiting for Rico to call me back. Dude had some fine Mr. Brownstone and I drove all the way from Chicago to get a taste; now he was playing hide and seek on my phone and I was starting to get pissed. I reach into my pocket and whip out my phone. Some _one's about to get a nasty voice mail._ The battery's at 2 percent, and as I watch, it goes down to 1. What the fuck? I check the settings: The Facebook Messenger app. "You're a fucking vampire, bro," I say, bringing the phone to my face and gritting my teeth. "Shit."

 _Fuck you,_ Messenger said. And by _fuck you,_ I mean my phone shut down.

Nice.

Sighing, I shove the phone back into my pocket and stumble to my feet. I need to find a telephone.

Swaying, I look around, and see I'm in someone's front yard. Toys and shit are strewn across the lawn. A pink Power Wheels jeep, a baseball bat, other crap. "Jesus," I say, staggering to the front porch, "ever hear of picking up after yourselves?"

While I was busy talking shit, I banged my shin on the bottom step and went down, smacking my face on one of the treads. I cry out in pain and roll onto my back.

Then I start laughing.

That Fireball don't play.

Snickering, I crawl up the stairs and get to my feet. Gotta look good. I run my fingers through my nappy ass hair and try to get the wrinkles out of my shirt. I knock, and wait with a smile plastered on my face.

No one comes.

 _Hurry up, this fake smile's killing me_.

I knock again.

I hear someone approaching. The door opens, and a dude in a green sweater's there. I notice the little pink apron he's wearing, and bite my tongue to keep from laughing.

 _Excuse me, my good man; may I make use of your telephone?_ That's what I planned to say.

"Hey, man, can I use your phone?"

The man blinks and looks unsure. "Uhhh...who are you calling?"

"My old man," I said, "I'm just, you know...I gotta talk to my dad. It's Father's Day, right?"

"That was last week."

"See? I'm late. He's gonna be all upset thinking I don't love him and shit."

"Alright," he says, stepping aside.

"Thanks," I say, and step in. The place is big. Bigger than anyplace I ever lived. Nice couch. Flatscreen TV. Pictures on the wall. It smells funny, though, like, you know, other peoples' houses do.

"The phone's this way," he says, leading me past an archway into a dining room. As I walk by, I see a _bunch_ of people eating. I mean, it's like an army mess hall or something. People dropping out the ass.

I poke my head in. "What's going on in here? Looks like a convention or something."

"My family and I were sitting down to dinner," the man says.

I blink. "Those kids are all _yours_?"

He nods.

I whistle. "You ever try for a son, Mr. Girl-Maker?"

"I have one. He's in there."

"Oh. I didn't look very hard."

He leads me into an office. "There's the phone."

"Thanks, man."

He leaves and I call Rico. He answers on the third ring. "Yeah?"

"Where's my H, dude?"

"Flagg1991?"

"Yeah, man, I'm in some fucking halfway house with twenty people and I'm feening."

"Won't be here until tomorrow."

I sigh. "Seriously?"

"Sorry, _ese_."

"Alright. Fine."

I hang up the phone and stagger to the dining room. All the kids and the dude and his old lady look up at me. "Uhh, can I hit your bathroom on the way out?"

"It's upstairs," the man says.

"Thanks." I salute and go upstairs. In the bathroom, I lock the door and drop to my knees. I take a baggie out of my pocket and use a razor to make three neat white lines on the toilet seat. Good thing I brought some dust along.

I snort it, and shiver. On my way out the door, I pick my nose. I'm pretty sure I sucked up a piece of toilet paper, but I can't find it.

Oh well.

I fall down the front stairs and smack my face on the walkway to the sidewalk.

Damn. That Fireball don't play.


	36. Casting Couch: Part 2

**This is a sequel to chapter eleven (** _ **Casting Couch: Part 1)**_ **of AberrantScript's** _ **All in the Life of a Loud**_ **. Lori, Leni, and Luna are looking to make some extra cash and wind up on Flagg and Script's casting couch. Parody of self-insert fics (I went out of my way to describe myself as perfect...it's a joke and should be taken as such).**

* * *

The door opened, and a tall, mysterious man in a leather jacket walked in. His jeans molded tightly to his perfect body, especially the massive bulge between his legs. Big Aviator sunglasses hid all but the faintest suggestion of his eyes. A tooth pick jutted from one corner of his mouth, and his handsome, angular face was framed by thick, shoulder length feathered black hair.

Lori's jaw dropped at his chiseled features: His strong chin (with five 'o'clock shadow) his sensuous lips, his proud cheekbones. He smiled at Script. "You would _not_ believe the shit I went through to get here today." His voice was rich and mellow. "Brad Pitt was going through another one of his little moods – you know, crying and depressed – and, being the good friend I am, I had to hug this guy and pat him on the back like a fucking baby." He laughed and put his hands on his hips. When he spotted Lori, a furtive smile touched his lips. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Lori," Script said. He was leaning against a desk with his muscular arms crossed over his hard, well-defined chest. "She's going to be doing some work for us."

Lori lifted one hand with a nervous, "Hi," and let it fall back to her lap.

Flagg nodded at her. "Nice. It's great to meet you. I'm actually kind of surprised; this guy here –" he backhanded Script's stomach – "doesn't usually bring in such beautiful women."

Lori blushed. "Thank you."

"She has two sisters in the other room." Script said, "they're currently discussing a proposition."

Flagg laughed. "Knowing you it involves incest." Flagg glanced at the fourth wall. "He sure does love his incest."

Script smiled and tilted his head to one side noncommittally. "While they hash it all out, I thought maybe you and Lori could do a little business together. Ease her into things. You're the best in the biz, after all."

"Yeah," Flagg laughed, "I am." He glanced at Lori, who was blushing and looking down at her lap. "Why are you doing this, honey?"

Lori glanced up and then back down. "M-Money."

Flagg laughed. "See, I thought it was for love of God and Country. Why do you need the money? Got a sick grandma or something?"

Lori shook her head. "We saw the ad in the paper and decided...why not?"

"It's better than being a janitor or something, that's for goddamn sure." He laughed again and looked at Script. "You got anything special in mind?"

"Nope," Script replied, "just go for it." He picked up a video camera that looked like it cost more than North Korea made in a year. "It's an audition, after all."

Flagg shrugged one shoulder. "Alright, fire that bad boy up and let's get it started in here." He glanced at Lori. "That is if you want. No one's forcing you to do anything." He nodded toward the door. "Door's right there."

Lori's hands twisted nervously in her lap. "I-I'll do it," she finally said.

"Great," Flagg said. While Script got the camera set up, Flagg took off his jacket. Underneath he was wearing a black tank-top that showcased his rippling, tattooed muscles. Lori's breath caught and her blush deepened.

Squatting behind the camera, Script held up a thumb. "Ready when you are."

Flagg plucked the toothpick from his mouth and tossed it aside, then sat next to Lori with a sigh of relief, kicking his cowboy boot clad feet up onto the coffee table and draping his arm on the back of the sofa, his ripped forearm brushing Lori's blonde hair and making her shiver. "You ever done anything like this before?"

Lori shook her head. "N-No."

"Never...did it, I mean?"

"No," she said, "but I've done, like, other things."

Flagg nodded. "That's good." Without warning, he turned, put his hand on Lori's cheek, and kissed her, pushing his tongue past her shocked lips and penetrating her mouth. She froze, then melted against the couch and kissed him back. Behind the camera, Script stared intently into the viewfinder, his perfect teeth bared in an obscene smile. Realizing the scene needed music, he turned, hit a button on the stereo, and the driving guitars of AC/DC's _Let There Be Rock_ filled the room. Flagg raised one toned arm and gave a thumbs up sign as his and Lori's tongues moved frenetically together.

Lori's fingers threaded through Flagg's lush black hair as his hand trailed down the side of her face to her slender throat, then over her collarbone and to her breast: She gasped into his mouth when she felt the heat of his palm through her shirt and bra. Flagg hooked one leg over her and shifted onto her lap, his knees planting on either side of her and his hands sliding up her face and into her hair. Script nodded behind the camera appreciatively.

Flagg broke the kiss and pulled his tanktop off, revealing his flexing back muscles and bronzen skin. Lori's eyes caressed his rock hard, washboard abs and his bulging pecs. She smiled up at him, her eyes brimming with sin. She laid her hands on Flagg's chest and traced his muscles.

Flagg grinned, unbuckled his belt, and whipped it off. "Let there be cock!" he screamed and unzipped his pants. When his massively thick and long dick sprang out, Lori's eyes widened. "It's so _big_ ," she said. "Much bigger than my boyfriend's."

"I bet'cha I'm a much better lay, too."

Lori laid back on the couch, and Flagg pulled her shorts down her long, shapely legs, revealing her light blue panties. Flagg tossed the shorts away and leaned in to kiss Lori's face, trailing his lips down her neck and chest as she purred happily. When he reached her panties, he pulled her shirt up and peppered her stomach with light, gentle kisses, tasting her salty flesh with hungry lips. He hooked his middle fingers into the waistband of her underwear and drew them down slowly, past her knees and over her ankles, baring her moist, pink flower. Script lifted the camera off the tripod and moved closer, kneeling next to the coffee table.

"That little boyfriend of yours ever –" Flagg kissed the swell of her pubic mound – "go down on you?"

"O-Once," Lori said, trembling like a powder keg ready to blow. Her flesh was fevered and her eyes were hazy with lust. "It-It didn't get me off."

Flagg laughed. "He didn't do it right." He pressed the tip of his tongue against her clit and drew it slowly down between her folds. She twitched and let out a strangled gasp. He reached her leaking opening, and lapped softly, which made Lori moan and arch her back. Script moved closer to the couch as Flagg moved his tongue back up, slowly, maddeningly. When he reached her clit, he licked it and grazed it between his lips. She drew a sharp intake of breath and rocked her hips into his face, her juice coating his mouth and chin.

Script was kneeling next to the couch and pressing the camera as close as he could get it; Lori thrusted her hips and wove her fingers through her hair, her chest rising and falling and her eyelids fluttering. "Ummmm, Flagg!"

Flagg pushed himself up and crawled up between her legs, the tip of his dick pressing against her opening. She touched his chest. "Fuck me," she moaned.

Flagg jerked his hips, and his titanic penis sank into her, spreading her lips and pushing her walls apart. She moaned as her hymen broke and instinctively lifted her hips to meet his smooth strokes.

"Harder," Script panted.

Flagg increased his speed.

"Harder! I want to hear flesh slapping!"

Flagg went faster still, the impact of his body against Lori's producing a loud, rhythmic _thwock_ sound. Lori threw her head back and bit her bottom lip as her orgasm welled up within her. "I-I-I'm cumming!" she hitched. Her muscles clamped around Flagg's perfect, magical penis, and she shook. Flagg thrusted once, twice, three more times, then yanked out, grabbed his dick, and gave it a mighty tug: His seed shot out from his swollen head and splattered Lori's face. Moaning, she opened her mouth and caught the second wad on her tongue.

Script leaned in and shoved the camera close to Flagg's dick. "There's your money shot," Flagg said as the final spurt splashed across Lori's stomach.


	37. I Visit The Loud House II

Someone shakes me, and I mutter _Fuck off_ but it comes out "fugauf." Bright light blinds me, and I wince. My head pounds.

"Sir," someone says, "I need you to get up."

I'd know that firm tone of voice anyway. I open my eyes, and sure enough, a big burly cop with a mustache, his eyes hidden behind Aviators, is bending over me. Oh shit; I have coke in my pocket.

"I'm up," I say and try to sit up, but my head aches and I cry out.

"Are you alright, sir?" the cop asks.

"Yeah, just...give me a hand, will ya?"

I reach out, and the cop takes my hand and drags me to my feet. For a moment the pain is so great that I almost fall back down, but then it passes and I'm good. I blink the crust out of my eyes and force a big, happy smile. "Can I help you, officer?"

"We got a call you were passed out."

I look around. I'm standing at the edge of someone's front yard. A big house with a porch hunkers against the sun. Toys, baseball bats, and bits of trash are strewn through the yard. _Damn, ever hear of cleaning up after yourselves?_

Then it hits me: I remember this place! I think I snorted coke in there.

I notice a man, a woman, and a mega fuck ton of kids standing on the porch, watching me. You ever see _The Simpsons?_ They have that hillbilly character Cletus or whatever, and he has, like, fifty barefoot kids running around? That's what this reminded me of, only more middle class. Lower middle class. I don't fucking know. I live in a one room studio over a deli on one of the roughest streets in Chicago. My idea of middle class is having chrome rims on your Honda.

"So what's going on?" the cop asked.

I sputter and shrug. I can't tell him the fucking _truth,_ can I? My probation officer would have my ass for breakfast.

So, I lie. "I...uh...I was mugged."

The cop raises an eyebrow. "Mugged?"

I nod. "Yeah, it was really bad. I walking and he was like 'Give me your money' and I was all like 'Whaaaat?' and he said 'I got mouths to pay and bills to feed, money don't grow on trees.' It was scary, man."

"Did you get a good look at him?"

"Yeah," I rub the back of my neck and look around. I see the dad and his kids. Mr. Girl-Maker! "It was that guy," I say, pointing at him, "the one in the green shirt."

Two cops suddenly appear and start cuffing him while his family goes crazy protesting and shit. "I didn't do anything! I'm the one who called!"

"That's right, buddy," I say as they drag him away, "crime doesn't pay."

I was feeling extra mean this morning, so I said, "That girl with the braces was helping him."

More cops come out of nowhere and collar her ass. I giggle. As she passes by, I spot a stupid pink flower stuck to her shirt. "This is mine," I told the cop, yanking it off. "Took it offa my shirt like nothing." I plaster it to my chest. "See?"

"It compliments your outfit perfectly, sir," he says.

"Thank you," I reply. "Hey, what's that?" I point behind him.

He turns, and, acting fast, I pull out my coke and toss it at the porch. Some girl in a jersey reaches up and snatches it out of the air.

"I think they have illegal drugs in there," I tell the cop, "you might wanna get child protective services down here."

A cop grabs the girl and shoves her against the side of the house. "It's cocaine, sir. She's a regular Tony Montana."

"Thank you for your tip, citizen," the cop says and nods to me.

"No problem. I just don't wanna see kids led into a life of crime, you know?"

As I walk away, I shake my head. What a fucked up family.


	38. I Visit The Loud House III

You know what sucks? When the dude you buy from moves to some Podunk little town where people think Olive Garden is fancy and Skol is a delicacy. Rico, my ese, met some chick on OkCupid and moved to Royal Woods, Michigan, last year, and it was either commute for my fix or find a new dealer; guess which one my dumb ass chose?

The last time I was in Stupid Woods, I scored enough good good to keep me rolling for six months. Well, guess what: Six months came early, so on a blustery October day, I went _back_ to Royal Blah.

It was raining when I rode in, which kind of matched my mood. I was stone cold sober and the only radio stations I could find were 101.1 Country and 106.6, Da Beat. I don't like rhinestone cowboys and I don't like grillz, so I said fuck it and listened to static. I stopped twice on the way: Once to piss, and another time to buy a Monster from some haji mart masquerading as a truck stop. It was piss warm and the big maharajah behind the counter had a big cold sore on his lip. "Messing with them lot lizards, eh?" I asked. He took my Monster and scanned it, his dour expression never changing. "You gotta wrap it up, Saleed. Put a rubber barrier between you and her, know what I'm saying?"

"Three dollars," he said.

I pulled a crumpled wad of ones out of my pants pocket and handed him three.

Anyway, I got into Dumbville at three. It was raining. The leaves were dull brown and wet. The place was ten times uglier than I remembered. Didn't I get mugged last time? Pretty sure I got left on someone's front lawn and I didn't have my coke when I woke up. I remember some girl with braces. Did _she_ mug me? How pathetic! Got my shit handled by a girl. Gotta be quicker next time, Flagg1991. Should have sent her back to her dentist with her teeth in a sandwich bag.

What kind of shit town has kids running around robbing people? You don't even see that in Chicago.

Shaking my head, I pulled onto Rico's street and parked at the curb. Rico's place is a one story ranch house with brick around the front door. Looks like something from _The Brady Bunch._ I got out of the car, took a deep breath (Royal Suck stank especially bad that day), and went to the door. Rico opened on the second knock.

"Hey, mang, you got my stuff, mang?" I asked in my best Tony Montana.

Rico cocked an eyebrow. "Why are you talking like that?"

"This is how I talk to my Hispanic friends, mang."

"Knock it off," he said, grabbing a suitcase off an end table and handing it to me. I handed him an envelope full of money.

"Thanks, mang."

"Seriously, get the fuck out of my face." Shaking his head, he shut the door.

"Fuck you too," I said and dashed back to the car. Behind the wheel, I loaded up and took a trip to Happy Town, population me. I was so amped, I even turned on the rap station. Droppin' plates on yo ass, beyotch. Oh, wow, I feel good. I reached for my Monster, but alas, it was empty.

"Need some juice," I said. I pulled an illegal U-turn and started looking for a gas station or a grocery store. I think I ran over a dog. Or maybe it was a plastic bag.

I found a Save-a-Lot two miles away and parked next to a panel van with STANLY'S SIDING written across the side in red. Siding, huh? Here's your siding: I threw my door open and took a bite out of Stanly's paintjob.

Inside, I roamed around, losing my train of thought. Man, that bakery department smells _good_. I grabbed a loaf of bread and pressed it to my nose. I inhaled so deeply I almost snorted it. Damn. Yum.

Holding it to my nose like a breathing mask or some shit, I wandered off, and found myself in the ice cream isle. Some blonde bitch in a blue tank top was rummaging through one of the freezers. As I passed, I saw some Klondike Bars. Holy shit. I _love_ those things!

I pushed blondie aside with a "Move, bitch," and grabbed a box.

"Excuse me?"

I took one out, opened it, and took a big bite. "You were in my way," I said around a cold mouthful.

"You are, like, so rude."

"But look what I have." I handed the box to her. "Want one?"

Shaking her head, she walked off. "More for me!" I called after her.

Some people. Wow. The _nerve_.

Munching my prize, I went over to the next asle. What was I looking for again? Frozen pizza? I could go for a Digiorno. The box says you put it on the oven rack, but the box is full of shit. I can't tell you how many of those things I've had melt through the rungs...and I can't tell you how many times I've knelt in front of an oven and eaten pizza soup with a spoon.

A pretty, shiny package caught my attention and I stopped to look at it. Something moved in my periphery, and I turned to see some girl in a plaid skirt looking through the fridge. I go back to looking at the pretty package, but I kept catching her looking at me. It was really freaking me out. Do they make narcs that young?

Finally, I turned. "Sorry, honey, you gotta be at least eighteen to ride the F train. What are you, five?"

Ooooh, if looks could kill. She balled her fists and snarled.

She had braces on her teeth.

It all came back to me.

"Oh, shit," I said, "they let you out? You musta had a decent attorney. Who's your parole officer? I might know him."

"I'm gonna get my dad and he's gonna kick your ass," she said.

"They let him out too? I thought he'd get the chair for sure." I laugh to myself. "Hey, hey...wouldn't that be _shocking_?"

I lost control and fell to my knees. Damn, I'm good.

Little Miss Mugger didn't appreciate my humor, though; she wheeled around and stormed away. "Hey, honey, where you going? I was just _lightning_ the mood!"

I slapped my knee and cried down my shirt. I should be on TV.

"Hey, are you planning to pay for those Klondike Bars?" someone asked from behind me.

"You gonna _make_ me?" I turned, and froze. You ever see a security guard so big he could moonlight as a Mac truck?

I did.

"Yeah, I'll pay."


	39. Show and Tell

Ronnie Anne slipped into the blanket fort and tossed a bag of potato chips into Lincoln's lap. "Here ya go, lame-o," she said as she settled across from him and opened her own bag.

"Thanks," Lincoln said. He opened it, reached in, and brought a particularly large crisp to his lips. It looked kind of Aunt Shirley if you turned your head and squinted.

"Don't mention it," Ronnie Anne replied. For a while they sat in silence, each munching their own snack. Lincoln thought it was strange when she suggested dragging two kitchen chairs in and throwing a blanket over them, but he was enjoying himself. Of course, he always enjoyed himself when he was with Ronnie Anne.

Finally, she cleared her throat. "So...uh...health class today."

A blush colored Lincoln's cheeks. Today in health class, Mr. Davis talked about...uh...'the developing bodies of young men and women." He also showed them pictures from a textbook...pictures of male and female genitalia. That was a pretty awkward forty-five minutes.

"Y-Yeah, that was, uh, enlightening," Lincoln said because he didn't know what else to say. He rubbed the back of his neck and stared past Ronnie Anne.

She chuckled nervously. "Yeah, it was...interesting." She shoved a chip into her mouth and chewed it slowly, as if to buy herself time. "I never knew that's what...you know...a boy looked like."

Lincoln nodded. "Yeah, I didn't know what a girl looked like either."

Neither spoke for a moment, then Ronnie Anne shifted uncomfortably. "I was...I was kind of curious...can I see yours?"

Lincoln blinked. "What?"

She shrugged. "Yeah, I mean...just to see one up close. In real life. I'll show you mine."

Lincoln's heart began to race in his chest; a part of him was horrified by the prospect of showing himself to her, but another was excited. Ronnie Anne watched him with anticipation, her cheeks red and her eyes shimmering with light; he felt himself nod, then reached for his pants. She followed him with her gaze, and he swallowed hard as he unzipped his jeans, his entire body burning from head to toe. She chewed her bottom lip as he pulled it out, her eyes widening. "It's...different," she said and scooted closer. "Like...harder."

"Yeah," Lincoln said with a sheepish chuckle, "it happens sometimes."

She looked up at him. "Why?"

He shrugged. Because I kind of want to have sex with you, he thought but didn't say.

She looked back down at it and hummed.

"Your turn," Lincoln said.

She hooked her thumbs into her shorts and pulled them down along with her underwear; Lincoln watched, his heart beating even faster now, as she pulled them over her ankles and tossed them aside. She propped her legs before her in an M, and Lincoln's eyes went instantly to the pink thing between her thighs; it was spread slightly apart and looked...sticky.

Lincoln's dick twitched.

"It's beautiful," he marveled, and Ronnie Anne looked away, her cheeks blushing furiously.

"T-Thanks," she stammered.

He scooted closer and leaned in to get a better look; her warm smell tantilized his nostrils, and he suddenly found it very hard to breathe. "Can I touch it?" he asked.

Ronnie Anne swallowed. Without meeting his eyes, she gave a jerky shrug. "I-I guess."

Lincoln reached out very carefully and pressed his fingers lightly against her center; it was warm and soft and just a little slick. She closed her eyes and winced.

"Sorry," he said quickly and pulled back.

"It's okay," she said, "it just felt kind of funny. Can I touch yours now?"

Lincoln nodded. Leaning back on his hands, and spread his legs. Ronnie Anne got onto her knees and looked at it. "It's even harder now."

"Yeah, I, uh..."

"You're turned on," she said.

All Lincoln could do was nod.

She reached out and wrapped her fingers around his length, making him gasp. It was warm, soft, and full in her hand; she stared wonderingly down at the tip as a silvery bead formed and dribbled down the side, collecting on her hand.

Lincoln moaned.

"Does that feel good?" she asked.

Lincoln nodded. "Yes. Very good."

She stroked up and down slowly, the pad of her thumb caressing his side. He dug his heels into the carpet and bore down on his teeth, his eyes squeezed closed and his body shaking. Ronnie Anne grinned savagely; she was enjoying this. "Still feel good?" she asked, stroking faster.

Lincoln nodded.

She went faster still, and his lips parted. "R-Ronnie..." he muttered. Suddenly, he swelled in her hand...then erupted, globs of white shooting from his tip. Ronnie Anne cried out and jumped back as his hips thrusted mindlessly, his thing spurting into the air like an oil spindle. Some of it landed on her sock and more fell onto the carpet.

Lincoln moaned and spasmed brokenly; she watched with panting, wide eyed amazement as he gave one final buck and fell limp.

"Wow," she snickered, "that was pretty cool."

"Yeah," Lincoln muttered, "really cool."


	40. The Patron Saint of the Lost

For as long as Luan Loud could remember, the faceless stranger followed.

As a child, he was a shadow in the night, felt rather than seen; as she lay awake listening to her father beat her mother and older sisters in the next room, he whispered in the wind, his words like the babble of the river Styx over bleached skulls. She squinted to hear, but never quite could.

Older, gangly and near gaunt from malnourishment, her hair and second hand clothes unwashed, she caught glimpses of him from the corner of her eye, a dark, blurry thing like living ink. When she turned, he was never there, and she felt his loss as a gnawing ache in her chest. _Please come,_ she thought, _I don't want to be alone anymore._ Sitting in class and pretending not to notice her classmates' taunting, sitting on her bed, alone in the light of the moon, wishing, hoping, and praying for salvation, for the scarred hand of Christ or the soft, affectionate kiss of Muhammad. Drifting, floating, a phantom in her own life, looking through a frosted window pane and seeing warmth and love she did not have, yearning, hurting, _needing_.

Her family moved often - every six months. Lori and Leni were gone and it was just her, Lola, and Lana, her only siblings. Lola acted out and abused Lana the way Dad abused her. Lana was withdrawn...she didn't talk, didn't smile. Each was in pain, alone in their special way, except for Luan, because the stranger was always with her, always whispering. His words became clearer, and she could almost make them out.

Seventeen, the face in the mirror ugly, the heart in her chest numb. She longed for what she read in the romance novels, for a man to see her beauty, to sense and accept the boundless love she had to give, the love locked deep inside her. No boys asked her to prom that year, but the stranger...the stranger asked her to dance, and she did, but her steps were halting, unsure, and she ran from the ballroom like Cinderella at the stroke of midnight. Like the Prince, the stranger followed.

Today, twenty-eight and living in a second floor tenement across from a rush of sex shops, pronographic theaters, and dive bars, red neon flashing through her window like the throb of a demon heart. She sought refuge in a thousand ports, but the storm always found her, and with it came Him, the Abiding, the Dark Man. He was her constant; as she scurried mouselike through the streets, he strode behind, his pace steady, certain. If she looked over her shoulder, she could see his face. As a child, knees to her chest, sobbing into the night, she imagined he might look like Evil, but he didn't; he was handsome, his eyes warm and his smile friendly. He wore a suit, his long brown hair in a thick ponytail. He always winked at her, and every time she whipped her head around and quickened her step.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, her body bent as if in prayer and her hands clasped, tears in her eyes and her body aching to be held, for a feeling that wouldn't drain from her after the fire and leave her cold, for a high that would last. She can hear him now.

 _Luan,_ his voice like honey, _let me in._

She got up and went to the window like a woman in a dream, and he was there, standing on the other side of the street and looking up at her, his smile wide. Their eyes locked, and she stared into him...and he into her.

 _Let me in._

Hot tears welled in Luan's eyes. I don't want to.

 _Let me in, Luan._

I just want to be loved.

 _I'll love you._

And held.

 _I'll hold you._

I want to be happy.

 _Take my hand, and I'll lead the way. I will hold you when no one will; I will dry your tears; I will end your suffering._

Luan wept openly now, her head hung and her hand pressed longingly against the pain.

Okay. Please come in. Please make it stop.

And like a cloud of smoke, he was behind her, his arms enfolding her in the warmest embrace; her body tingled and the edges of her mind grayed. _Shhhh,_ he said, _you're no longer lost, Luan...you are found._

Two days later, they found Luan Loud hanging from a rafter, a noose around her neck.

And she was smiling.

* * *

 **The stranger is suicide, death, the void...whatever you want it to be.**


	41. The Cartoonist Who Pervs Women

**It is 4:43 pm on Wednesday, June 6, 2018, as I write this (now 4:44). I woke up at 3:30 (I work nights) and tried to write, but didn't have the get up and go, so I do what I sometimes do: Wrote something silly to prime the pump. (4:45 now). Lincoln is a famous cartoonist who was fired by Nick for being a perv scumbag (sound familiar?). He goes home to the bosom of his family...but they aren't happy with him.**

Lincoln Loud arrived home at 1216 Franklin Avenue just before two on a blustery November afternoon, sitting in the back of a taxi cab and staring ashamedly down at his lap. His hands were clasped on his knees and his eyes swirled with a thousand dark emotions - humiliation, self-loathing, and anger chiefly among them.

It wasn't fair.

Two days ago, he was on top of the world - his show _Crowded House_ was the most highly rated cartoon on Nickelodeon and he was regarded as a visionary genius. Now, he was out on his ass and hated by the world.

And all it took was one woman coming forward. _Mr. Loud touched me inappropriately._ One dumb intern to set the dominoes falling: One became two, two became four, next thing you know, he was being called to a meeting with the president of the company. _Mr. Loud, these accusations are very troubling. We here at Nick feel it would be best if we parted ways._

Just like that, his career was over and his reputation was in tatters.

What could he say? He was a passionate man and he loved the soft, warm feel of a woman's breasts and butt, and the thrill of grabbing them when the attached female wasn't looking...or wanting him to...hmmmm. It's not like he raped them or anything, sheesh. They should be honored that _the_ Lincoln Loud chose them - millions of women would _kill_ for the opportunity.

Fucking dykes.

Now he was done.

Kaput.

Sigh.

At least he still had his family.

Reaching into his back pocket, he took out his wallet, removed a fifty, and handed it to the driver. "Keep the change," he said.

"Hey, thanks."

He grabbed his bag, got out, and slammed the door behind him. Ahead, at the end of a walkway, stood his childhood home, huddled darkly against the leaden sky. So many memories, so much happiness. Hopefully being surrounded by his loving sisters would bring him out of his depression. _Oh, poor Lincy,_ he could hear Leni saying now as she caressed his forehead. _Dude, those women are bogus,_ Luna added. _You're a great guy, Linc,_ Lana put in, _you'd_ never _do that._ He smiled to himself and started toward the porch - when the world got you down, you can _always_ count on your siblings to have your back.

At the door, he sat his bag down and knocked, then jumped back when it was ripped open from the inside. All of his sisters, from Lily to Lori, were there, scowls on their faces and cold glints in their eyes.

Uh-oh. They looked mad.

"I am _literally_ disgusted with you," Lori spat.

Luna shook her head. "Not cool, bro."

Lincoln's heartbeat sped up. "I-I didn't do it, I swear. They're lying."

"There's video," Lola said and put her hands on her hips, "they've been showing it on CNN all day."

Luan nodded. "And MSNBC."

"And Fox," Lucy said.

Oh, shit. This was _not_ good.

"I thought we raised you better than that, Lincoln," his mother said from the back of the pack. 'Apparently not."

"I can explain…"

Before he could, Leni snatched him by the front of the shirt and dragged him through the door, her eyes filled with hatred and her teeth bared. Lincoln's heart leapt into his throat and he tried to beg for mercy, but suddenly he was falling, his head whacking off the floor and the air bursting from his lungs in a hot rush. Eleven angry faces ringed him, and eleven feet began to kick; the tip of Lucy's shoe caught him in the ear, and red agony filled his skull; Lana's steel-toed work boot crashed into his kidney, and his stomach caught fire; Lola dropped to one knee and rammed her fist into his nose, which exploded like a bomb.

"We're gonna teach you to respect women, dude!" Luna cried as the sole of her boot fell onto his chest; his back arched and tears of pain filled his eyes.

"And to stop being such a _dick_ " Luan added and brought her foot down square onto Lincoln's crotch.

Growling in wordless rage, Lynn grabbed one of his hands and twisted - seering agony shot up his arm as his bones snapped like fragile twigs. He cried out and began to sob. This wasn't supposed to happen - they were supposed to be on _his_ side.

"I'm disappointed in you, son," Dad said as he stripped his belt off. "I was hoping you were a better man." He pulled the belt back and lashed it forward - the metal clasp split Lincoln's bottom lip and knocked one of his teeth out. Blood gushed from his mouth and nose; both eyes were black; his body was broken and quivering.

Still, they kept going, kicking and punching and calling him names. "All that liberal equality feminist stuff on your show was a lie," Lisa said and dumped something green and bubbling on his stomach; his skin began to sizzle. "You're a typical liberal male pervert hiding his sexism behind a facade of tolerance and respect. You're just like Bill Clinton."

Through blurring vision, Lincoln saw Lynn lifting a baseball bat over her head. "You're gonna learn, dork," she said and brought it down.

Stars burst across his consciousness, and for a long time he drifted in cold darkness. When he came awake, he was lying in a hospital bed, his entire body in a cast and a dozen machines clustering around the bed. A doctor stood over him reading from a clipboard. "Ah, Mr. Loud, you're awake."

His mind was numb and everything ached. "A-Am I going to be okay?"

The doctor looked up and sighed. "From the beating, yes. However, while we were working on you we discovered that you have terminal cancer. You have six minutes to live."

Horror broke over Lincoln like a wave.

Horror that turned to terror when Ronnie Anne came through the door, punching her palm. "I hear you like disrespecting women, lame-o," she said, her brow dark and her eyes cold. 'Get ready for the most painful six minutes of your life."

Lincoln died crying and pissing himself like a bitch.

The End.


	42. Grand Theft Auto: Royal Woods

**Lyrics to** _ **Good Thing**_ **by Whatever (2001);** _ **Rush, Rush**_ **by Debbie Harry (1983)**

Lincoln Loud jumped out of bed and got dressed, then went downstairs. His life meter was at 100 percent, his armor was at 100, and he had no wanted level.

 _That_ was about to change.

First, he went into the kitchen and got himself a bowl of cereal, then went into the dining room where Luan was telling jokes. He ate quickly, then got up again. Deciding to have a little fun, he pulled out his baseball bat and cracked Luan over the head until he slumped over dead. Lori and the others screamed and ran off; Lincoln whipped out his Uzi and lit them up, hitting Leni, Luna, and Lana in the backs. They fell to the floor dead.

Outside, the day was bright and hot, people going up and down the sidewalk and enjoying the weather. Lincoln cycled through his weapons, settled on a revolver, and ran out into the street; a taxi cab stopped and honked its horn. Lincoln went around to the driver side door, ripped it open, and yanked the driver out - he was an Arab man in a turban. "Ahhh, get in the back!" he screamed.

Lincoln slipped behind the wheel and punched the gas, the car taking off like a rocket. Loud, upbeat pop music filtered from the speakers and Lincoln nodded his head to the beat.

 _I'm working for the sake, of it and_

 _I'm on for all the money they gotta give_

 _I go out getting laid but I play safe_

 _In a safe place and I know that I know_

 _That I wanna live_

 _I said to you_

Lincoln spotted a construction worker in booty shorts sauntering down the sidewalk; he jerked the wheel and slammed into him, knocking him aside. One of the stairs on the right side of the screen lit up.

 _Come clean, unused, be free, just good_

 _Been caught, been bruised, been cleaned_

 _Been used_

He blasted through a red light at a four way intersection and mowed down an old woman in a crosswalk; behind him, a black and white police car appeared and turned its lights on. Great. Spinning the wheel, he pulled into the parking lot of Flip's and jumped out, cycling through his weapons until he came to his AK. The cruiser pulled in and the cop got out. "Royal Woods PD, asshole!" he yelled as he ran over. Lincoln lifted the rifle and pulled the trigger, hitting him with a burst of gunfire that knocked him off his feet. People on the sidewalk screamed in horror and fled in every direction, but Lincoln had the taste of blood in his mouth, and there was no stopping him now. He ran out into the street and fired indiscriminately, hitting a black man in the back and literally decapitating a blonde woman. A second star lit up, and the sound of approaching sirens rose in the distance.

When two cop cars appeared, Lincoln selected his rocket launcher, aimed, and fired; the round struck one of the cars and it exploded in a ball of fire that made the entire world shake. Another cop car came up behind him and ran him over, taking his armor meter from 100 to 82. He got back up and took aim as two cops hopped out, crouched, and started firing.

BOOM!

The car leapt twenty feet in the air and came down on its hood; the cops fell to the ground in flames, blood splattering the sidewalk and guns in glowing orbs appearing over their bodies. Lincoln ran back to the taxi, climbed in, and turned the dial to Flashback 95.6, his favorite station. Eighties music filled the car, but Lincoln could barely hear it over all the sirens.

 _He's on the level_

 _If he's inclined_

 _The son of a devil_

 _He wants mine and more_

 _He's a high, high climber_

 _Not just a clinging vine_

 _He made the grade, he made his marks, it's secure_

 _And guess who's keeping score?_

Lincoln hit the gas and shot out of the parking lot ahead of a cop car - it clipped his back end and he spun. The _whump-whump-whump_ of helicopter blades filled the sky, and a police chopper sailed over the roof of Gus's Games and Grub. " _Get that son of a bitch!"_ a voice yelled over the PA system. Lincoln cut the wheel right and sped past a line of cop cars.

 _Rush rush, got the yeyo?_

 _Buzz buzz, gimme yeyo_

 _Rush rush, got the yeyo?_

 _Yo yo, no no yeyo_

Two cop cars sat nose to nose across the street ahead. Gritting his teeth, Lincoln pressed harder on the gas. Four cops stood behind the road back, firing over the roof and hoods, bullets slamming into the windshield and front end with metallic pings. They realized his wasn't going to stop, and dove out of the way just as he slammed into the point where the cars met, knocking both of them aside. His hood flew back, covered the windshield, then fell off and clattered to the ground. At a four way intersection, he drove up onto the sidewalk and ran down a seemingly endless line of pedestrians, laughing madly at the squishing sounds they made under the tires. His wanted level increased, and suddenly SWAT trucks flooded the street.

He turned right and headed toward the interstate, but a truck slammed into his back end and pushed him forward. The wheel froze in his hand and hurtled helplessly toward a concrete retaining wall.

 _He's a real speed demon  
He's one of a kind  
Watching, waiting, winking over his shoulder  
He's running out of time_

Screaming, Lincoln slammed into the wall and flew through the windshield, landing hard on the other side and losing ten percent of his armor. The helicopter was overhead and the sirens were deafening. He ran through a stand of trees and came out on a residential street, looking left and right for a car to steal. He spotted a pick up truck at the curb and started for it just as the helicopter started shooting him; his armor slowly dwindled.

" _How do_ you _like it, asshole?"_

Lincoln stopped, went to his rocket launcher, and aimed it at the chopper.

BOOM!

It spun out of control and slammed against the street in a ball of flames, destroying the pick up. Damn. He turned just as a SWAT truck pulled up and a dozen guys piled out. Oh shit. He turned and started to run.

 _Tattattattattattattatattattattatttatatatattata!_

His body jerked and his armor went to zero, this his health plummeted from 100 to 45. He found his flamethrower, turned, and opened it, spraying fire at the stormtroopers; they went up like Christmas morning, some running around in circles and screaming and others dropping to their knees before flopping face first against the pavement. Lincoln turned and ran through someone's backyard. On a back street, he stumbled across a sports car. Yes. He got in and sped off as he cycled through the radio stations, landing on Head Radio and leaving it because holy shit, he had a max wanted level now and tanks were everywhere.

One came after him, and he screamed in terror as he floored the gas. Another appeared ahead and shot toward him. He jerked the wheel, but the tank behind him slammed into the rear end and -

BOOM!

WASTED.


	43. Garbage Day

**Long story short: There's an eighties horror movie called _Silent Night, Deadly Night 2_ where a guy shoots a dude taking out his trash and yells "Garbage Day!" I know, it sounds dumb, but it's kind of funny. Anyway, my boy** **Spagthesis did a LH crossover with that movie and had that scene in it. I thought it was funny and came up with this. It's a little...stupid...but I chuckled, so mission accomplished.**

* * *

A man in a white polo shirt and jeans lifts a metal garbage can and carries it to the curb, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead; it's early but already hot.

He sets it down with a grunt, then looks up. A man with white hair and a cowlick, wearing a goofy sweater and slacks, stands on the other side of the street, his eyebrows wiggling like two mating caterpillars. He squints as Cowlick lifts a gun. "Garbage day!" he screams.

The man's heart blasts and his face pales. "No! No!"

 _BLAM!_

Something hard and hot slams into his chest and knocks him back.

He dies.

* * *

A man sets a metal garbage can and looks up. Across the street is a man with white hair and a cowlick, his eyebrows shrugging. He lifts a gun. "Mülltag!"

The first man's face pales. "Nein! Nein!"

 _BLAM!_

* * *

A man sets a garbage can on the curb and looks up. Across the way is a man with a sideways baseball cap and sagging jeans, his bushy brows breakdancing. "Garbage day, fool!" he screams and lifts an AK-47.

The first man's face pales. "Oh, hell no!"

 _Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat._

* * *

A man sets a garbage can on the sidewalk and looks up. A man with white hair in a sombrero and a colorful pancho stands on the other side of the street. "Día de la basura!" he yells and lifts a gun.

"No haga! No haga!"

 _BLAM!_

* * *

A man sets a garbage can on the sidewalk and looks up. A girl with short brown hair and wearing a purple skirt stands on the other side of the street. She lifts a gun. "Garbage day, dude!"

"No! No!"

 _BLAM!_

* * *

A man sets a garbage can on the sidewalk and looks up. A girl with blonde hair and clad in an aquamarine dress stands on the other side of the street. She raises a gun. "It's totes garbage day!"

"No! No!"

 _BLAM!_

* * *

A man sets a garbage can on the sidewalk and looks up. Donald Trump stands on the other side of the road flanked by secret service agents. He lifts a gun. "It's garbage day, believe me."

"No! No!"

 _BLAM!_

* * *

A man sets a garbage can on the sidewalk and looks up. A girl with blonde hair and dressed in a blue tank top stands on the other side of the street. She lifts a gun. "It's literally garbage day!"

"No! No!"

 _BLAM!_

* * *

A man sets a garbage can on the sidewalk and looks up. A man with white hair and wearing an orange polo shirt stands on the other side of the street. He lifts a bazooka. "Garbage day!"

"No! No!"

 _BOOM!_

* * *

A man sets a garbage can on the sidewalk and looks up. Josef Stalin stands on the other side of the street. He lifts a gun, "мусорный день!"

"Het! Het!"

 _BLAM!_

* * *

A man sets a garbage can on the sidewalk and looks up. A Frenchman stands on the other side of the road. He lifts a white flag. "Journée des ordures!"

"Non! Non!"

 _Wave._

* * *

A man sets a garbage can on the sidewalk and looks up. He stands across the street. He lifts a gun. "Garbage day!"

"No! No!"

 _BLAM_

* * *

A man sets a garbage can on the sidewalk and looks up. No one stands across the street. Whew. Gotta love a happy ending.

He turns around to find his wife standing on the porch. She lifts a gun. "Garbage day!"

"No! No!"

 _BLAM!_


	44. Pearl the Obese Vampire From Blades

**Someone wanted a story about Pearl the obese vampire from _Blades._ Well...here it is.**

Luan, Lori, Leni, Luna, and Lola were sitting on the couch watching _Dr. Phil_ when someone knocked on the door. "I'll get it," Luan said. She got up, went over, and opened it, her friendly smile dropping when she saw who it was.

"Gasp, Pearl the Obese Vampire From Blades!"

A gigantic mound of sloppy flesh, covered in sweat and looking for all the world like a quivering heap of Jell-O, surged forward and grabbed her, its beady little eyes glinting with fevered madness. Drawing one hand back, it punched into her chest, grabbed her heart, and ripped it out, shoving it to his mouth. Luan, her chest cavity gaping and gushing blood, fell back a step. "My heart!" she cried. "Pearl the Obese Vampire From Blades is dining upon my still beating heart. Hark, woe unto me!"

Pearl the Obese Vampire From Blades giggled evilly. "You can say that girl had heart."

Luan dropped to her knees and pressed her hands to the sides of her head. "Now it's mocking me with puns!"

Pearl the Obese Vampire From Blades shoved Luan aside and waddled into the house. "Who's next?"

Upstairs, Lincoln was sitting on his bed reading a comic when his Pearl the Obese Vampire From Blades senses tingled. "Oh no," he said and jumped to his feet, "Pearl the Obese Vampire From Blades is here." He snatched up his walkie talkie. "Godalming, this in Van Helsing, come in."

"Godalming," CLyde's voice repied, "what's the sitch?"

"Pearl the Obese Vampire From Blades is my house!"

"Got it. Be right there."

Moments later, the wall exploded and Clyde stepped in dressed like Blades - black leather jacket, shades, and idk whatever because I've never actually seen Blades. Lincoln was suddenly dressed like Rambo - camo pants, tank top, bandana. "Ready?" he asked and picked up a giant 50 cal.

"Ready," Clyde said.

In the living room, Pearl the Obese Vampire From Blades was sucking Leni's heart out of her chest and making Hannibal Lecter noises. Luna lay dead on the floor and Lori cowered in a corner. "Like, literally, leave me alone!"

Clyde and Lincoln appeared, Clyde getting in front of Lori. "I'll protect you."

Lori's pupils turned into hearts and she held her folded hands to the side of her face. "My hero!"

Lincoln aimed the 50 cal at Pearl the Obese Vampire From Blades and opened fire, the hollow tip vampire killing bullets shredding him to a million pieces. "No, I am die!" Pearl the Obese Vampire From Blades cried and fell to the floor; the entire house shook, and windows rattled as far away as Toronto. Lincoln's dad came out from his hiding spot and clapped his son on the back.

"You're a hero. You know what that means - you get to stay up an extra half hour later now."

Lincoln pumped his fist then looked over his shoulder. "Where's Clyde?"

As if on cue, Lori moaned from upstairs. "Oh, God, faster, Clyde! Fuck me faster!"

The headboard slapped against the wall.

"It's true what they say about black men, I will _never_ go back!"

Luan grabbed Lincoln's leg pulled herself to her knees. Her eyes were hazy and unfocused. "Well, you can say this story ended with a _bang_."

Lincoln stared at her a moment, then whipped out his Beretta, jammed it against her temple, and pulled the trigger.

Lynn Sr. rolled his eyes. "Finally, _someone_ does it."

They both laughed.

Freeze frame.

THE END.


	45. One Last Match

**STR2D3PO, you asked for a WWE-themed oneshot - here it is. Please don't hate me.**

 **And I'm not doing any stories about fat people or farting.**

* * *

 **June 24, 2007**

Lincoln Loud sat alone in the kitchen of his Fayetteville, Georgia, home, his head bowed and his hands fisted in his lap. He wore black trunks, boots laced tight, and nothing else, his powerful chest naked, his muscular arms bare. He was forty-two but in better shape than most twenty-year-olds, his god-like physique envied by by men the world over and desired by almost every woman.

On the outside, he was perfect - he had a beautiful family, money, and a successful career in professional wrestling. On the inside, though, he was shattered. For the past six months, he'd been having skull-splitting headaches, nightmares, and blackouts. During his last annual physical, the doctor ordered an MRI and found a black spot on his brain.

He couldn't say he was surprised - he'd been wrestling for twenty years, starting in the NWA in 1987 and moving onto the WCW, then the ECW, then finally to his current promotion, the WWF in 1997 - well, WWE now. In that time, he'd taken a thousand hits to the head, and always knew that there was a chance something would happen, but that was always a worry for another day, when he was _older_. He had a family to support, and wrestling was all he knew how to do. He was a high school dropout, he couldn't do math, he knew shit about history, and he couldn't do dick but wrestle.

And he was good at it. His high flying acrobatics thrilled audiences from Japan to the US, and his mic skills left his opponents battered and bloodied before he even laid a hand on them. His natural charisma drew the love of wrestling fans young and old, and just last year, he won the world heavyweight championship for the tenth time. His hardcore-in-a-cage match against Randy Savage at Wrestlemania 2000 was the WWE's highest rated ever, and his merchandise sold more than anybody's, including that faggot Stone Cold Steve Austin and that big retard Kane.

Day in and day out for two decades, he battled the biggest and best in the business, and sometimes, they played rough. In 1992 he broke his neck at Fall Brawl when Rick Steiner botched a simple piledriver like the dumbass he was, and in 1998, he did a backflip off the top ropes at Survivor Series and landed right on his head, giving himself a massive concussion.

He fully expected this...just not so soon; in the nebulous _future_ , maybe, always over the horizon, drawing ever away as he approached, not rushing to meet him, not actually _catching him_.

That mythical day had come, and it was time to pay the piper.

Sigh.

The tumor wasn't why he was down, though.

It was Lola, his wife.

She was leaving him and taking their daughter Leia with her.

They'd been married for seventeen years, and for a long time they were happy, but he was on the road so much, and Lola...Lola needed attention. When he wasn't around to give it to her, she got it elsewhere. How many men had she laid in their marriage bed while he was away? How many times had he come home to mysterious stains on the sheets? How many times had he gone outside only for a never-seen neighbor to call him another man's name?

Too damn many.

Then, to top it all off, Vince McMahon, the owner of the WWE was forcing him to retire. _We can't have a sick man in the ring, Lincoln. It's bad for business._

After ten years of taking bumps for that asshole, selling new talent, and putting over men slower and weaker than him because it was a time honored tradition, he was on the curb like yesterday's garbage. The sport he loved and gave his all to was spitting him out.

In essence, he was losing everything.

But not until after one final match.

When he heard Lola's key in the lock, he got up and crossed to the threshold, flattening himself against the flanking wall. Suddenly he was back in his prime, sauntering to the ring as a thousand adoring fans chanted his name - adrenaline shot through his veins and his heart began to pound. The door opened, then closed; footsteps approached. Lincoln tensed, waiting, waiting…

When Lola appeared, Lincoln shot out one powerful arm, wrapped it around her neck, and drew her into a forward facing headlock. She cried out in alarm and battered his chest with one fist. He was blind to it all: The spotlights were hot and the roar of the crowd filled his ears; the smell of sweat clogged his nose. Slapping her back with his palm, he threw himself back, smashing her face into the floor in a perfect DDT. She howled as her nose burst and blood spurted across the linoleum. Jumping to his feet, panting, lost in the moment, Lincoln climbed onto the counter, turned away from her, and hit a backwards moonsault, flipping head over feet and landing hard stomach first on Lola's back.

The crowd went wild.

Not giving his opponent time to recover, he spun around, laced his hands over her face, and pulled back. It was his signature move. _Ah, my gawd, the crossface!_ He could hear Jim Ross crying excitedly. Lola frantically tapped the floor, but there was no ref to see, so it didn't count.

"Lincoln!" she wailed. "Stop! Please!"

Gritting his teeth, he pulled back harder, and slowly, the fight drained out of her. When she was limp, he got to his feet, ran across the kitchen, then came back, stopped, slapped his elbow, and dropped it onto the back of her head. Next, he dragged her to her feet, grabbed her around her throat, and lifted her into a chokeslam, her body crashing limply against the floor.

"D-Daddy?"

Lincoln looked up. Another opponent stood at the ropes. Letting out a deep battle cry, he pressed his thumb to his throat and jerked it across, miming cutting. Leia screamed in terror and turned to run, but Lincoln sprang at her, snatching her by one pigtail and pulling her back. He whipped her around and flung her into the fridge; she connected back first, and he ran at her, arm out, hitting her with a devastating clothes line.

 _He's not just trying to hurt the man - he's out to end his career!_ Jim Ross cried.

Lincoln drew back his hand and brought it across Leia's chest in a deadly arc; she screamed for him to stop, her eyes filling with tears. "Da-ddy!"

He did it again.

 _It's a slobberknocker! He's whippin him like a government mule!_

He grabbed Leia around the throat, picked her up off her feet, turned, and slammed her onto the table - it broke under her weight and collapsed to the floor.

 _GOOD GOD, ALMIGHTY!_

She was sobbing and bloody, but Lincoln didn't stop. Kicking a sliver of wood out of his way, he went over and stood next to her, his shoulders heaving and his eyes muddled with madness. Leia gazed helplessly up at him. "D-Daddy, st -"

He dropped to his knees and wrapped his hands around her throat. She kicked and threw a punch that connected with the side of his head.

He didn't feel it.

He was too far gone.

Gritting his teeth, he squeezed; her face swelled and turned red, then blue, then deep purple; her clear blue eyes clouded, then went dark, the happy light extinguishing as she died.

When he was sure she was dead, he let go then lifted her arm, letting it drop. "One," he said, his voce hollow and dazed. Again. "Two." One more time. "Three."

The bell rang and he got to his feet, his arms going out; he spun slowly to let the crowd bask in his greatness - a dead woman, a dead girl, and a Felix the cat clock on the wall, its tail swishing and its eyes wide with horror.

Stepping on a broken salt shaker and crunching glass under his bootheel, he went into the living room, then down a flight of stairs to the basement. At his Bowflex home gym, he grabbed the lat bar, pulled, and wound the wire around his neck, his face expressionless, eyes as dead as his family's.

He sat, and the cord tightened, cutting off his air supply; blood slammed against his temples and his vision grayed at the edges. His face turned red, then blue, then purple, and as the shadow of death stole over him, he smiled.

After all, he won his last match, didn't he? And it was a handicap match at that.

When the WWE found out what Lincoln Loud did, they erased him from all their tapes and pretended he didn't exist. Legend has it that if you mention his name in front of Vince McMahon, you'll be fired on the spot.

THE END.


	46. This Match Sucks

**This is for STR2D3PO. Hope you like it, buddy.**

* * *

Lincoln Loud, the greatest professional wrestler to ever live, sat backstage at a live Raw event, taping up his hands and sweating after a sick workout. It was, like, 1999 or something and the WWF had all but beaten WCW in the Monday Night Wars, thanks in large part to how big, handsome, and skilled in the ring Lincoln was. He was also smart and realized this - in 1997 he threatened to jump ship to the WCW, and Vince McMahon gave him a stupid raise. _We can't lose you, Linc,_ he said as he handed Lincoln a suitcase full of money then gestured to his daughter, Stephanie. _You can have her too, if you want. I'd be proud to have you as a son-in-law._

In other words, Lincoln was the best and he knew it. His friend, Clyde "The Crusher" McBride was a strong second best, and together they dominated the locker room. Just the other day, Clyde snatched a sandwich out of Stone Cold's hands. _What'cha gonna do, bitch?_ Clyde asked. Stone Cold simply trembled and held out his beer. _Ask if you want this too. Sir._ Later, Lincoln walked up to Kane and ripped his mask off. _Take this goddamn thing off, it gets on my nerves. I wanna see your bitch face._ Kane looked shly down at his boots and mumbled _yes sir._ The Rock was the only one to ever buck up, and Lincoln slapped him so hard he lost his sense of smell, which is why he always asked if you could smell what he was cooking - cuz he sure couldn't.

Anyway, Clyde and Lincoln were sitting together before their main event, which was a mystery even to them, when a man in a ratty black robe and cloak floated over as if on a tide of evil, and the smell of sulfur filled the locker room. "Aw, shit," Clyde said, "here comes Vince Russo."

Russo, the head writer for the WWF, loomed over them, his face cast in shadows. You could just make out his beard and beady little weasel eyes.

"Hi, Vince," Lincoln sighed.

No one liked Russo cuz he was a buffoon and possibly the devil. Jim Cornette, another writer, tried to take him out with a wooden stake once, and wound up unemployed. For some reason, Vince McMahon loved him, so he was a sad fact of life, like genital warts.

"Hey, bro," Russo said in a thick New York accent - if you listened closely, you could hear the sound of failed careers, broken dreams, and sadness. He held up a script, and green stink lines wafed from it. "Here's what I'm gonna have you do, bro, and I'm gonna be honest with you, bro, this is Wrestlemania level, bro."

Lincoln and Clyde looked at each other. That meant it was a _really_ dumb match. "What?" Lincoln asked.

"There's gonna be a tank in the ring, bro, we're gonna fill it with water, and water animals, bro, and you and Clyde are gonna fight in it, bro. It's gonna be sick."

Lincoln gaped. "Whoa, wait. We're going to be fighting in a tank of water?"

"Genius idea, huh, bro?"

"No, it's awful."

Russo's face darkened, lightning flashed behind him, and ominous organ music played. Lincoln and Clyde both cringed and cried out in alarm. "Okay! Okay!" Lincoln cried. "We'll do it!"

Russo flashed a toothy smile. "Alright, bro, see you there."

He snapped his fingers, and in a puff of smoke, he was gone.

* * *

The scene opens on a wrestling ring surrounded by a raucous audience screaming, dancing, and holding signs. NITRO FEARS RATINGS; WCW SUCKS; AUSTIN 3:16. Jim Ross, in a western shirt and a black cowboy hat, sits at the announcer's table next to Jerry "The King" Lawler, who wears some kind of dumb sequin glam rock cape and a crown. "Here it is, folks," JR says, "tonight's main event."

"It's the first of its kind, JR," King says.

"That's right," JR replies. "A seafloor slobberknocker."

The lights brighten and a giant glass tank filled with water is revealed in the middle of the ring, fish swimming round and round and crabs scuttling across the sandy bottom. King sighs. "This is so dumb," he says, his voice muffled as though he were trying to cover his mic but didn't fully.

JR rolls right along. "Now making his way to the ring, The Greatest, The Best, Lethal Lincoln Loud!"

Pyrotechnics explode on either side of the ramp and guitar heavy rock music plays. Lincoln runs out, and the crowd goes wild. He climbs through the ropes, runs to one of the turnbuckles, and climbs up, where he flexes his awesome muscles. He jumps down, looks at the tank, and rolls his eyes.

"And now, his opponent, Crusher Clyde McBride!"

Hardcore gangsta rap plays and Clyde swaggers out, flipping the crowd off and flexing his impressive guns. "I love that boy, JR," King says.

"Of course you do," JR replies, "he's the heel and you're a heel commentator, and thus act as a counterbalance to my face commentating." JR realizes what he just said and blinks. "I mean...aw my gawd, yee-haw!"

In the ring, a ref fits Clyde and Lincoln with wetsuits while the crowd goes silent in confusion. "We're about to see the greatest match to ever happen," JR said, reading from a script, "by the most genius mind to ever grace the face of professional wrestling You smarks are going to…" JR trails off. "Do I really have to read this malarkey?" he asked into his mic.

"Do it or I'll have your soul for breakfast, bro," Vince Russo says into his earpiece.

JR rolls his eyes. "..are gonna love this. Now, to the ring."

Lincoln and Clyde both jump into the tank and sink to the bottom. Lincoln was an avid swimmer and spent a lot of time in the water - he knew that given the pressure, neither he or Clyde would be able to land any good hits. This was the card Russo dealt him, though, and he had to play it the best he could.

His feet sank into the sand, and across from him, Clyde's did the same thing. The ref tapped on the glass to signify that the match had begun, and they charged each other like two men on the moon - slow, ponderous, clunky. This is fucking retarded, Lincoln thought.

Clyde threw a punch, but the water pressure softened it to barely a tap. Lincoln tried to kick him, but he grabbed his boot and pushed him back,

The crowd was silent, their faces ranging from puzzlement to irritation.

Lincoln threw himself at Clyde, but Clyde pushed him away. Clyde threw a slow punch, and Lincoln grabbed his wrist.

Now the audience was gettin angry. A chant went up, starting in the back then spreading like a grassfire. "THIS MATCH SUCKS! THIS MATCH SUCKS!"

Lincoln grabbed Clyde in a bear hug and tired to give him a DDT, but when he fell back, the water stopped him.

"THIS MATCH SUCKS! THIS MATCH SUCKS!"

Vince Russo, lurking in the shadows and watching, bared his fangs, his eyes glowing red. These fools didn't understand his genius. He oughta smite the whole lot of them, bro.

Just then, Vince McMahon strode up. "That's it, Vince, you're done here. You can take my soul but you're not ruining my company."

Russo hissed. "Fine, bro."

He disappeared, and appeared thousands of miles away to Eric Bischoff, head of the WCW. Bischoff, sitting at his desk, screamed and jumped a foot. "Hey, bro, it's Vince Russo, look, bro, I left the WWF now I wanna work with you."

Bischoff went pale. He'd heard the rumors about Russo - he slept in a coffin, he ate wrestling promotions whole and spat out bankruptcy, he only came out at night, he controlled Vince McMahon's mind and made him screw Brett Hart in Montreal, he was the antichrist.

"Listen, I'll be honest with you, bro, the attitude era was all me."

Now _that_ made Bischoff take notice. The WCW was doing awful in the ratings and no one liked the NWO storyline the fiftieth time he brought it back. "Okay," he said, "we'll give you a test run."

Russo smiled.

Two years later, WCW closed its doors and Russo slunk off into the night to cause havoc and mayhem.

Lincoln and Clyde's careers never recovered, and they both died depressed and destitute, hated by the industry that once loved them.

THE END


	47. The Kool Kids Klub

Lincoln and his sisters gathered in Lori and Leni's room for a special siblings meeting, the point of which Lori, who called it, wouldn't say. Lincoln sat on Leni's bed between Lola and Luan, his fingers drumming restlessly on his knees and one foot tapping the floor. He was sexting with Ronnie Anne when Luan knocked on his door, and before being disturbed, he was _this_ close to 'being there.' Needless to say, he wanted to get back to it ASAP.

Standing in the middle of the room, hands proudly on her hips, Lori said, "Alright, everyone. I'm forming a new club and I want all of you to be in it."

Everyone groaned. _This_ is what she wanted to talk to them about? A club? "Oooh, I love clubs," Leni said and fisted her hands, "what's it called?"

"The Kool Kids Klub," Lori said, "or the KKK."

Lisa lifted a quizzical brow and Lincoln gaped. "Uh, Lori, you do realize that the KKK is a hate group, right?"

Lori's brow knitted exaggeratedly. "No it's not. It's just siblings hanging out and having fun together."

"What he means to say," Lisa started, but Lori waved her off.

"I don't hate anyone," Lori said, "especially not Hispanic people." She made air quotes on the last word. She turned and opened a box sitting on her bed. "Here are our official club uniforms." She pulled something out and held it up.

Everyone's eyes widened.

It was a white robe with a red cross over the left side of the chest. "Oooh, we can't forget out hats." She reached in and pulled out a white hood with two holes for eyes.

That was it. Lisa jumped up. "Alright, goddamn it, I understand you're hurt because Bobby broke up with you -"

Lori gasped. "That has nothing to do with the Kool Kids Klub."

"- but this is too much. I will not tolerate a virtual klavern in my own home, nor will I allow my siblings to be drawn into your petty bigotry."

Lori's face darkened. "Fine, then, I'll tell Mom and Dad you pay Lucy to dig up dead bodies from the cemetery for experiments."

Lisa's jaw dropped.

"I have dirt on all of you," Lori said and looked around the room, her gaze flicking from one horrified face to the next, her perky smile never faltering, "and if you want me to keep it to myself, you'll join me."

Everyone glanced uneasily at each other.

Thirty minutes later, ten Louds trudged down the sidewalk in a straight line, each one dressed in a white robe and hood; Luna and Luan carried a giant cross between them and Leni merrily swung a red gas can. Lincoln's face burned with shame, and he jumped at every sound, certain that a group of minorities would be there with bats, brass knuckles, and outrage. "This is retarded," Lucy said.

"I feel like the world's biggest buffoon," Lisa added.

"I'd rather pink," Lola said and looked at the sleeve of her robe - it was three sizes two big and swallowed her hand like a hungry whale.

"I'm so dirty that this thing will _never_ be clean," Lana said.

Harold and Howard McBride came out of their house, hand-in-hand, and started toward their car, but froze when the Louds passed. "Oh, my God, it's the klan," Harold said, his hand going worriedly to his mouth.

Leni glanced over and brightened. "Hi, Mr. and Mr. McBride!" she said with a wave. She lifted her hood and winked. "It's me, Leni!"

They both blinked in confusion.

"The point is to literally keep our identities a secret," Lori admonished over her shoulder. Lincoln held his hand up to the side of his face and ducked his head, praying the McBrides wouldn't recognize him or else they might not let him hang with Clyde anymore.

Five minutes later, Lori stopped. "Alright, gang, here we are."

It was Bobby and Ronnie Anne's house.

Lincoln's heart dropped. Oh no.

"Set the cross up over there," Lori said and pointed to the middle of the front lawn. Luna and Luan went over and set it up with help from Lucy, Lynn, and Leni - it looked like a grotesque and racist parody of the flag raising at Iwo Jima.

This was madness. He went over to Lori and rubbed the back of his neck. "Lori, can we...not do this?"

She turned and looked down at him, her face hidden behind the robe, but her narrowed eyes visible through the holes. She crossed her arms sternly and cocked her hip. "Lincoln, maybe you don't understand how our country is literally being overrun with Hispanic people, but it's, like, really bad and we have to do something."

Lincoln sighed. "This isn't about Hispanic people. It's about Bobby breaking up with you."

"No it is _not,_ " Lori said. "In fact, I'm glad he did it. I was a race traitor, kissing his soft, warm lips...gazing into his beautiful brown eyes...playing with his silken black hair." Her voice took on a dreamy, lovestruck quality, and she shook her head as if to dispel the thought. "This is about us taking back America."

The cross was set up now, and without another word, Lori went over to it, opened the gas can, and splashed the wood, walking in a slow circle. When the can was empty, she tossed it away, grabbed a torch from Lana, rubbed the end aganst the cross, and lit it. "This is for being Hispanic, Bobby." She touched the torch to the cross, and it went up with a _whump,_ flames racing up the body and then spreading across the arms. Orange light bathed the grass and flickered across the front of the house. Lincoln hung his head in defeat.

Bobby, Ronnie Anne, and their mother appeared in the front window, horror crossing their faces when they saw the macbare scene unfolding in their yard. Lori faced the house and snapped a crisp Hitler salute. "Jerk," she said.

The next night, Lori called another meeting of the Kool Kids Club, and Lincoln went into her room with hope - she got her aggression toward Bobby out, so maybe she was disbanding the group.

"That was a lot of fun, wasn't it?" Lori asked. She stood in the middle of the room, her siblings around her in a semi circle. "Who wants to do it again?"

Lincoln groaned and started to say _no one,_ but Lola's hand shot up. "Can we do it to Lindsey Sweetwater next?"

"I wanna do it to Sam," Luna said sullenly, "bitch rejected me."

"I say we do it to Flip," Luan said, "I'm sick of him overcharging me."

Lincoln couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Are you guys crazy? This is...this is horrible."

"So was what you did to Mom's rose garden last week," Lori said smugly and crossed her arms.

Last week, Lincoln and Clyde were tossing a football back and forth and...long story short, Lincoln tampled his mother's roses. She thought the neighbor's dogs did it.

"You wouldn't…?"

Lori took out her phone, pulled up MOM in the contacts, and started to press CALL, but Lincoln grabbed her arm. "No, don't."

"Then shut up and put on your robes, we're gonna burn a cross at Flip's."

From that point on, Lincoln never missed a cross burning.


	48. Hopps Helps Out

**JustSomeGuy and nuuo: I deleted a couple stories to move them to the Sin Kids Miscellany, which apparently counted as an update.**

 **Megaman1549:** _ **Just Say No**_ **was a joke aimed at the same anti weed people you mentioned in your review. I literally have a dime bag of bud in my top drawer as I type this - I know how to ingest it and I know what effects it does (and doesn't) have.**

* * *

Lana slipped into her bedroom, shut the door behind her, and pressed the thumblock, her eyes shifting slyly around.

She was alone.

Good.

She went over to the bed, sat her backpack on top, and unzipped it, taking out first a jar of peanut butter then a plastic container full of flies. She turned to the cage on her nightstand, and inside, Hopps croaked a throaty greeting. "Hey, boy~" she said and batted her eyelashes. He tilted his head in confusion at her tone, and she giggled. Taking the lid off, she reached in, closed her hand around him, and held him up. "I read something online I want to try," she said, "it sounded like a lot of fun." She sat the frog on her pillow, whipped off her hat, and threw it aside. Next, she undid the straps of her overalls and let them drop to the floor, then stepped out of them. Dressed now only in a blue shirt and white panties, she sat on the edge of the bed.

 _Ribbit?_

"Well," she said evenly as she pulled her underwear down her thighs, past her knees, and over her ankles, "it's...it's hard to explain."

She uncapped the peanut butter, dipped her fingers in, then smeared it across her thing. She laid back, propped her legs up in an M, and opened the container; flies buzzed out in a black swarm and dispersed around the room. Hopps watched them with hungry eyes. "Now be still," Lana said.

A few went for the peanut butter and got stuck; they tickled her sensitive girl skin and made her blush. Hopps eyed her strangely, then licked his lips as more flies landed on his master's crotch. Lana's face turned red and her heartbeat sped up. "Alright, boy," she said, "get those flies."

Hopps blinked hesitantly.

"Go on," Lana said, a desperate edge in her voice; she was _really_ turned on. "Do it."

With a little shrug, Hopps jumped between her legs and shot out his tongue, catching a fly and, inadvertently, Lana's clit; she bit her bottom lip and sucked a sharp intake of breath through her teeth. He did it again, watching her reaction with dumb curiosity - her toes curled and her fingers clawed at the blanket. He caught the dank musk of her arousal, and his primal instincts activated. He licked again, slower this time, and she shivered. "Ummm, that feels good."

Getting closer, Hopps flicked out his tongue and ran it down the valley of her sex, her taste overpowering the peanut butter. Lana moaned and began to rock her hips. He responded by swirling his tongue around her opening; her eyelids fluttered, and she started rubbing one nipple through her shirt.

Desire filled the frog, and he hopped onto Lana's sex. Pressing his webbed hands into her pubic mound, he poked her entrance with his tiny erection, barely penetrating her. Lana fuurrowed her brow and looked down at him. "What are you doing?"

Realizing that she wasn't pleased, he started to lick her clit as he thrusted into her, and she flopped her head back against the pillow. "Nevermind," she panted, "I like that."

So did Hopps. A lot. In fact, he was already seeding her womb with his warm frog cum, microscopic globs that she didn't feel over her own wetness. In the throes of his climax, he licked faster, and Lana held onto the bed. "Oh...something's happening." There was worry in her voice. "I-It feels like something's coming."

Then it hit her, and she cried out, intense sensation flooding her body like lava. She bore down on her lower lip to keep from screaming, bent her arm behind her head, grabbed the pillow, and bucked herself against her pet's cold, slimy face.

When it was over, Hopps jumped up onto her chest and licked her face.

"That was really good, boy," she said with a devious grin, "we're _definitely_ doing it again."


	49. Right Wing Death Squads

Rita Loud shoved a pair of cargo shorts into the already full laundry basket, hefted it off of the dryer, and carried it up the basement stairs, her arms straining and sweat springing to her face. Wow, this is heavy...and it's all Lori's.

That girl went through far too many outfits in a day - sometimes four and five. Rita didn't know _why_ she did it, but she stopped trying to understand the odd little things her family did - like why Lynn and Lincoln looked at each other with shimmery eyes and little smiles, why Lynn Sr. came home from work three hours later than he had to and smelling like another woman, why Luna's eyes were always red, and why Lisa kept referring to her siblings as "test subjects." Easier to just ignore them - everyone has their flukes.

At the top of the second floor stairs, she went to Lori's closed door, opened it with one hand, and went in. It was empty, but Lori's computer was on, the screen filled with a picture of a smiling crescent moon wearing sunglasses. Funky rap beats issued through the speakers, and Rita frowned. Lori of all people should know better than to leave her electronics on when she wasn't in the room.

Then Rita heard the lyrics, sang in a stiff, automated voice, and her jaw dropped.

 _Triple-K Mafia back on the scene  
Right-wing death-squads  
Cultural appropriation  
All of you niggers, cucks, and liberals  
We're sending death-squads to the neighborhood after midnight  
We're setting a curfew, stay off the streets you fucking coons_

The laundry basket fell from Rita's hands and spilled its contents across the floor.

 _Why would anyone be proud to be black?  
Your whole fucking race is addicted to crack  
I'm Moon Man, representing "White Power"  
I stack bodies higher than Trump Tower_

The moon was replaced by a giant black swastika on one side and Donald Trump on the other, his hand balled into a fist and his mouth open mid-rant. Rita's stomach turned and her hand flew to her chest in shock. She could _not_ believe what she was hearing; she was a liberal woman and she raised her children to be accepting and tolerant of everyone. It made her extremely proud that Lori was with an Hispanic and that Lincoln's best friend was black. This...this was simply unacceptable - it was sick, disgusting, and it enraged her. Why would Lori listen to something like this?

A different voice started to rap.

 _Got a life sentence when I shot a Jew  
You deserve death if you voted Ted Cruz  
That dumb-ass spic was destined to lose  
Name the jew, blame the jew  
And when you're online then flame the jew  
After midnight we get revenge  
Make America Great Again! _

Righteous indignation swept Rita like a fire, and her face turned bright red. I put up with a lot from these people...my husband cheating on me...my son fucking my daughter….my other daughter doing drugs...but _this_ is where I draw the line!

When she heard footsteps behind her, she whipped around; panting, eyes wide, teeth clenched, she resembled a furious animal. Lori appeared, eyes closed and a big smile on her face. "Lori Marie Loud!" Rita roared. Lori jumped and her eyelids flew open, her simper dropping.

 _Feel the Bern, you fucking fags  
We put fascist symbols on our flags  
To make omelettes you need to break some eggs  
Put refugees in body bags_

"WHAT IS THIS TRASH?" RIta demanded and jabbed a finger at the computer, where the moon man sat behind a piano, banging the keys like Jerry Lee Lewis.

Confusion filled Lori's eyes. "T-T-I don't know, it's not me."

 _Open the gates for the caliphate  
Blacks fuck your daughter while you masturbate_

The color drained from Lori's face and and Rita fucking _popped_. "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU! EVERYTHING I PUT UP WITH, AND YOU'RE LISTENING TO GARBAGE LIKE THIS? YOU RACIST LITTLE BITCH!" She lashed out and kicked the empty laundry basket across the room. She was shaking violently as everything she'd repressed over the years came shooting up in a boiling geyser of pent-up fury. Lori screamed in terror and jumped back.

"I swear, Mom, I didn't do it!"

 _This land is your land, this land is my land  
This land is fortunately only for the white man  
Fuck midnight, if it's half past nine_

 _That means it's right-wing death-squad time!_

Rita let out a wordless howl and pulled at her hair like a madwoman. She launched herself at Lori, who wailed and ran. "THIS WHOLE FAMILY'S FUCKING CRAZY!" Rita screeched.

In the room, now empty, the song ended, plunging the house into silence...save for Lori's sobs and the crashing thumps of Rita tearing the living room down. "I WANT A DIVORCE, LYNN!" she screamed even though Lynn wasn't there.

The door, standing ajar, opened, and Leni came in, her hands up and curved down like a puppy begging a treat and her eyes closed. A soft, airy hum trembled on her pink lips and her silky blonde hair rustled as she crossed to the computer and used the mouse to restart the music. "This is _totes_ my favorite song," she said as the beat kicked in.

 _I'm Moon Man, representing "White Power"  
I stack bodies higher than Trump Tower_

Leni's eyes opened to predatory slits and the corners of her mouth carved up in an evil grin. She wiggled her hips and shook her butt in a smooth, sensuous twerk. "Fuck minorities," she said. She gripped the back of the chair and gyrated her ass. "Like, everyone who doesn't look and think exactly like me is scum."

Downstairs, Lori's sobs intensified as Rita smashed the TV against the floor. "I HATE ALL OF YOU!"


	50. Cucked Lincoln

**Requested by Raganoxer.**

" _ **Hey flagg, being brutally cucked is my fetish. It would be so hot if you wrote a story where Lincoln gets cucked by another man and acts like a total bitch. I'd fap so hard to that."**_

* * *

Lincoln Loud's day started at 6am. He woke his young daughters, Regina and Ramona, got them dressed, fed them, then walked them to school. When he came back home, he slipped on a pink apron and set about making breakfast: Pancakes, sausage, bacon, eggs, toast, and potato mash. Done, he made two plates, sat them on a tray, and carried them into the darkened bedroom. Crossing to the window, he drew the curtain, letting in a fall of bright morning sunshine. "Rise and shine, you two."

The blankets stirred, and Ronnie Anne looked over her shoulder, eyes bleary with sleep. "I made breakfast," he said proudly.

Another ripple of fabric, and Chandler sat up, his chest bare and his brown hair mussed. "Alright," he said appreciatively and rubbed his hands crisply together. Ronnie Anne drew herself to a sitting position, the sheet brushing down to reveal her perky breasts, and Lincoln's throat tightened. Hopefully this would please her enough that she would sleep with him tonight - it had been a long time since they were intimate.

He laid a tray across each of their laps and returned to the kitchen, where he washed the dishes, wiped down the counters, swept and mopped the floor, and cleaned out the sink. Still in his apron, he went back into the bedroom, starting when he found Ronnie Anne vigorously working Chandler's dick with her mouth, her head bobbing up and down in a furious blur. Chandler sat with his hands laced behind his head and a sly smile on his lips. Lincoln's gaze went to his wife's naked, flexing back, and his loins stirred with desire. He longed to touch her, but she got angry with him if he laid his hands on her without permission. Their last time together, she crawled on top of him and rode him with the listless enthusiasm of a dead fish. When he shuddered and came (weakly trembling out her name, of course) she rolled her eyes and drew a heavy sigh. _There, now stop bellyaching._

Presently, Chandler moaned, and Ronnie Anne's motions slowed. She spit him out with a plop and wiped her mouth. "How was that?" she purred.

"Good," Chandler said and brushed his thumb across her cheek.

The sex, and the obvious affection between his wife and her boyfriend, made Lincoln so hard it hurt; his dick pushed out the front his pants and his knees quivered like jelly. He coughed, and Ronnie Anne glanced over her shoulder, the happy light in her eyes fading and her smile dropping into a sour frown. "H-Hey," Lincoln stammered, "uh…"

"No," she said pointedly, "I'm gonna be late."

She got up, entirely nude, and strutted to the bathroom, wiggling her butt and giving Chandler the show of a lifetime. Lincoln's eyes softly caressed her every feature, from her long, silky legs to the gentle curve of her hips; the swell of her toned butt to her full breasts. Her warm caramel skin glistened in the sun like Arabian sand and her long hair spilled over her shoulders like strands of black velvet. Lincoln swallowed thickly - she was beautiful, and he loved her...so much that when she wanted to bring Chandler into their marriage, he readily agreed. Anything to please his Latin queen.

She sensed him watching her, and turned, her brow darkening. "Don't you have housework to do?"

Lincoln lowered his head. Making her and Chandler breakfast in bed wasn't enough to make her happy.

But was it ever?

Scurrying, he collected the dishes, took them into the kitchen, and washed them. Ronnie Anne and Chandler eventually left for work, and Lincoln was alone. He really wanted to earn some intimacy with his wife, so he cleaned the house from top to bottom, mowed the lawn, did all the laundry, went grocery shopping (making sure to pick up all of hers and Chandler's favorite snacks), and washed Ronnie Anne's car.

At the end of the day, he picked the girls up from school and brought them home, where Chandler was kicked back on the couch, his feet on the coffee table. Crumbs, clumps of dirt, and an empty chip bag littered the floor. Dishes were piled in the sink and packages of lunch meat, cheese, and bread were strewn across the counter for Lincoln to put away. Ramona ran through the house toward her room, and Lincoln called for her to stop.

She didn't listen.

When Chandler told her to stop, she did.

Ronnie Anne came home, kissed Chandler on the cheek, and glared at Lincoln. "This house is a disaster. You were here all day, you really couldn't clean?"

"But -"

She shook her head in disgust and turned her back on him.

Lincoln hung his head and sighed. Why couldn't he do anything right?

After making dinner, washing the dishes, cleaning the kitchen, giving the girls a bath, getting them dressed, and putting them to sleep, Lincoln lay in his spot on the very edge of the bed while Chandler made love to Ronnie Anne from behind, her cheek pressed against the pillow and her face contorting in fifty-seven shades of delight. Lincoln squeezed his eyes closed to blot out the image of his wife being sexually pleased by another man - a better man - but couldn't escape her breathy moans. The heavy, musky scent of hers and Chandler's combined excitement pinched his nostrils, and the bed rocked as Chandler went faster. Lincoln rolled onto his side and curled into a ball.

"God, I'm cumming!" Ronnie Anne cried.

Chandler grunted and released his load deep into her womb.

Silently, Lincoln began to cry.

"That was really good, babe," Chandler said.

"Umhm, yes it was," Ronnie Anne said. "I think lame-o wants some too."

Lincoln's heart skipped a beat. Yes, God, he wanted some so bad. He sniffed and wiped his eyes with the heels of his palm. "S-Sure," he said, "i-if you want."

"Alright," Ronnie Anne said.

Lincoln rolled onto his other side, and Chandler grinned devilishly. "On your stomach, Loud."

And as Chandler thrusted deep into his ass, Lincoln Loud thought, as he did every night... _maybe tomorrow._

 _If I earn it._


	51. Lincoln Calls Clyde the N Word

**Guest: I'll get around to reviewing your stories at some point.**

Every weekday morning, Clyde McBride met his best friend, Lincoln Loud, at the intersection of Franklin Avenue and Rushdale Drive for the six block journey to school. It was a ritual they had repeated a thousand times over the years and one that, Clyde assumed, they would repeat a thousand more times before they graduated. Today, November 15, Clyde stood next to a stop sign and waited in the cold, drizzling rain. Cars passed languidly in the street, their tires splashing in puddles, and ember colored leaves plastered the slick sidewalk. Clyde, one thumb thrust through the strap of his backpack, rocked on his heels and entertained himself by humming the Ace Savvy theme song. He and Lincoln were _huge_ Ace Savvy fans.

Shortly, Lincoln appeared at the end of the street and strode up, clad in a green jacket over an orange T-shirt. Clyde grinned. "Hey, buddy."

Lincoln lifted a hand in greeting. "Hey, nigger."

Clyde's smile _dropped_.

Uh...did he just say...the n word?

No! He couldn't have! Lincoln didn't have a racist bone in his body. In fact, his family was very liberal, and his parents made it a point to downtalk racism every chance they got.

He must have misheard. "Ready for school?"

"Sure am, porch monkey."

Okay, Clyde knew for a fact that he heard right this time. "What?" he asked, because he honestly didn't know what else to say.

Lincoln blinked. "What?"

"Y-You just said...porch monkey. And nigger."

Lincoln's brow furrowed. "No, I didn't."

There was a hint of confusion in his voice that gave Clyde pause. _Did_ he hear right? Maybe he didn't. He was _sure_ he heard _porch monkey,_ but he supposed it was _possible_ he was mistaken. He wracked his brain for something that rhymed (lorch...sunkey?), but couldn't come up with anything that made sense. "Uh...alright," he said guardedly. "L-Let's go."

They waited for a bus to pass, then crossed. "Didja see the new episode of ARGGH last night?" Clyde asked. With Lincoln, you could never tell; he had ten sisters, and sometimes he was slow in getting to the TV.

"Nah, spook, I missed it."

Clyde flashed a strained smile. Yeah, there was no doubt about it, he heard _clearly_. "You know," he said, "those types of jokes aren't funny. They're actually kind of offensive."

"What jokes?" Lincoln asked.

"Racist jokes."

Lincoln's step faltered. "I didn't tell a racist joke." If _perplexed_ were a sound, it would be Lincoln's tone right now.

That confused Clyde all the more. "You called me a nigger, you called me a porch monkey, and now you just called me a spook. Those are all hurtful names. I get that you're just messing around, but...please stop."

"Okay, okay," Lincoln said and held up his hands, "I won't call you anymore slurs. Moon cricket."

Some deep, racial switch flipped in Clyde's brain, and before he could stop himself, he spun and smashed his fist into Lincoln's face. Lincoln crumpled to the ground...and started to cry.

Clyde gaped down in horror at his friend, shocked and sickened by what he just did, then dropped to one knee. "Lincoln," he moaned, "I'm so sorry, are you okay?"

"You hit me!" Lincoln sobbed. "Moolie!"

That did it. Clyde got up and walked away. Tears stood in his eyes and hurt clawed at his chest. Why was Lincoln doing this? He was Clyde's best friend!

All that day, Clyde avoided Lincoln, ducking him in the halls and at lunch. At home, he laid in bed and stared dejectedly up at the ceiling. Maybe tomorrow would be better.

The next day, he met Lincoln at the end of Franklin. "H-Hey, buddy, you okay?" he asked.

Lincoln flashed a winning smile, and Clyde allowed himself to hope. "Never better," the white boy said. Then added, "Coon."

"Why do you keep calling me racist names?" Clyde demanded.

"I don't," Lincoln said.

"YES YOU DO! KNOCK IT OFF!"

A smug simper touched Lincoln's punchable face, and Clyde's blood ran cold. He could take being called mean names by other people, but not his best friend, and if he did it again, Clyde couldn't guarantee Lincoln's safety. "Don't," he warned.

Lincoln leaned forward and spoke slowly, "Jungle. Bunny."

Clyde's fist connected with Lincoln's stomach. The air rushed from Lincoln's lungs in a pained _oof_ and his little cowlick wavered like a white flag of surrender. He fell to his side, hugged himself, and curled up in a ball. Clyde, sobbing at the betrayal, whipped around and ran away.

Every day for a week, Clyde did his best to stay away from Lincoln, but every so often, Lincoln would pop out of nowhere and call him a racist name. Pickaninny, Sambo, spade, kaffir, mosshead, bootlips, tarbaby, nappy-roots, Black Lesnar. On Wednesday, Clyde decked him in the middle of the cafeteria, and he fell back against a table, crying and bleeding. On Friday, he beat him up in the boy's bathroom. The following Monday, he nearly broke his nose in gym class. By Tuesday, he looked like that Mayhem guy from the Allstate commercials, face covered in cuts, bruises, and Band-Aids...but he just would not fucking quit.

On Wednesday, Clyde was a nervous wreck and every little sound made him jump. That afternoon, he was passing Lincoln's house, his steps quick, when Lincoln came running over. "Yo, nig, what it do?"

Clyde fucking _snapped._ With a primal cry of fury, he charged at Lincoln and hit him like a freight train, knocking him to the ground. He rained down a furious hail of blows on his former friend's face, weeping in rage and agony. Lincoln thrashed but did not fight back; his nose burst under Clyde's fist, his teeth shattered, his lips split. Finally, Clyde got to his feet, and Lincoln pushed up to his knees, blood gushing from his nose, mouth, and abrasions on his forehead. Both boys panted for air, Lincoln's breathing a wet, sickly rattle. "Ape," he spat.

Clyde flashed, grabbed the boy around his neck, and squeezed. He couldn't take this anymore - it was driving him crazy. "Don't make me do this, buddy," he wept.

Lincoln's face turned a deep shade of purple and his eyes bulged from their sockets. He strangled and clawed weakly at the backs of Clyde's hands. Clyde let up just enough for him to speak...to apologize so that things could go back to the way they used to be.

Instead, Lincoln tilted forward and smirked. "You're fucking black," he whispered.

Clyde squeezed again, and this time, he didn't let go until he was sure Lincoln would never call him another racist name.

Ever.


	52. Nazi Lisa: The Final Solution

**Someone asked for another Nazi Lisa story, and I've had this idea rattling around for a while now. Since I'm having trouble getting into a longer, more involved project today (I've written a good 200,000 words since December, cut me some slack), I decided to do this right quick. It is the** _ **last**_ **Nazi Lisa story I will ever write. Hope you enjoy.**

Lisa dropped the smoking StG 44 and numbly surveyed the carnage before her: Copies of her siblings littered the living room floor like the garbage they were, dead, riddled with bullet holes, and splattered with blood. A Lincoln lay in two pieces, the rounds having cut him in half, and a Luan stared sightlessly up at the ceiling. A Lynn lay prone, her back rising and falling. Cold, unfeeling, Lisa took out her Luger, went over, and shot her in the back of the head, splashing her brains across the carpet. "That was wicked," Lucy said.

"Ruined," Lisa muttered. Her steely facade cracked, and her face screwed up in misery. "It's all ruined." She dropped to her knees and hung her head. "Hitler...I failed you." She pressed the barrel of the gun against her temple and squeezed her eyes closed. This was it...the end of the line. She strove for the loftiest of goals - establishing the master race - and bungled it so badly she no longer deserved to wear the proud Nazi uniform her pathetic body was currently clad in. She deserved, instead, a pair of striped pajamas and a gold star pinned to her breast.

She tightened her finger around the trigger and swallowed.

Just before she jerked it, however, a revelation struck her, and her eyelids flew open. "That's it!" she cried. She struggled excitedly to her feet and jammed the gun back into its holster.

"What?" Lucy asked.

"The time machine! We can go back in time!" She trembled with the giddiness of a small girl.

Lucy's lips turned down in a tiny frown. "That sounds kind of convoluted."

"Never mind what you think," Lisa said with a dismissive hand wave. "Follow me."

In her room, Lisa went to her bed, knelt, and reached into the space between the floor and the box spring. She pulled out a contraption, unfolded it, and sat it up in the middle of the room. Lily sat in her crib, smacking a bronze bust of Hitler. Lisa grated, then pulled out the Luger, aimed, and fired: Lily jerked back, blood, brains, and skull fragments splattering the wall behind her. Her eyes widened in shock, then she slumped over, dead. "Ice cold," Lucy complimented.

"She was told," Lisa said tightly and returned the gun to the holster.

The time machine, a simple, disc-shaped pad with an attached control panel, sparked and whirred when Lisa turned it on. She hooked it to her PC then stepped on. Lucy stood next to her, still holding the StG. "I'm setting it for just before Nazi Lincoln was killed. We'll team up with ourselves from that universe and finally produce the master race." She salivated as she spoke, the promise of accomplishing her long-held desire making her tremble.

She keyed in the time and location, and a wall of pure electricity formed around the pad. "Whoa," Lucy breathed in wonder.

With a zap and a whiff of ozone, the machine jumped into the past. The electricity cleared, and across the room, Lincoln, Lisa, and Lucy stood behind the computer, their brows furrowed with shock. "Greetings," Lisa started, "I am -"

Before she could finish, her past self pulled out her Luger and took aim. Lisa's heart leapt into her chest, and she dove aside as a report filled the room. She landed behind a table and instinctively pushed it over so that the surface form a barrier between her and the danger. Lucy ducked and took cover behind Lily's crib. "Stop!" Lisa cried.

Past Lucy lifted her own StG and opened fire, rounds digging into the wall and tearing chunks out of Lily's crib. Past Lisa and Past Lincoln both joined in, hails of bullets exploding beakers and pinging off the time machine with metallic sounds. "Please!" Lisa screamed. "We're comrades!"

Her Lucy leaned out from behind the crib and pulled the trigger. A bust of gunfire caught Lincoln in the chest and slammed him back against the wall.

"Noooooooo!" Lisa wailed, tearing madly at her face.

Past Lucy ejected her magazine and started to jam a new one in. OG Lucy shot her in the head, and she fell limply to the floor. Sheltering behind the desk, Past Lisa held her Luger in both hands and jerked off a shot; it tore out OG Lucy's throat in a spray of blood, and OG Lucy toppled to her side.

"Please!" Lisa screamed. "We mean you no harm, we -"

Without missing a beat, Past Lisa turned, aimed, and fired, Searing pain enveloped Lisa's shoulder and she fell back, her vision rapidly graying. Past Lisa came up and stood over her, an ugly sneer on her face. "D-Don't," Lisa pled. "You don't understand."

"I understand perfectly well," Past Lisa spat. "Jewish clone."

With that, Lisa lost consciousness.

* * *

Lisa Loud came slowly and groggily awake, her head swimming and hot agony radiating through her body. She tried to move her hands, but realized with a start that they were strapped down. She lifted her head and issued a horrified gasp. She was bound to a table, her body stripped and bare.

Her heart started to race and she laid her head back down. "Please," she said, "you must listen to me."

A blinding white light stung her eyes, and she winced.

"Subject # 13-1 is conscious and stabilized," an ominous voice intoned.

 _Her_ voice.

A reel-to-reel tape recorder sat on a nearby table along with a terrifying array of wickedly sharp surgical instruments, each one crusted in the blood of a past experiment.

Lisa's blood ran cold. She'd seen this a dozen times before...but only from the other side of things. "NO! GOD, STOP!"

"Beginning Experiment # 12."

A drill whirred to life, and when the tip, hot and spinning, touched Lisa's forehead, she wailed.

In the moment before the bit broke through her skull and whipped her brains to mush, she realized something.

She didn't want to be a Nazi anymore.


	53. Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives

A morbidly obese man sits behind the wheel of late fifties model drop top convertible. Wind blows through his spiked white hair and rustles the jet black goatee covering his quadruple chins. Polarized sunglasses hide his eyes and warm, slimy sweat lightly coats his doughy face. He wears a black short sleeve bowling shirt with flames racing up the front, bermuda shorts, and sandals...with socks. He looks like a giant douchebag, but to be fair, he _is_ a giant douchebag.

"This is Lincoln Loud," he says, "rolling out, looking for America's greatest diners, drive-ins, and dives."

Generic stock music plays over a montage of scenes from past episodes: Lincoln biting into a hamburger, its juices dribbling down his chins; Lincoln rolling his eyes and moaning obscenely; Lincoln licking his chops and ogling a waitress's breasts; Lincoln celebrating his fifth successful double bypass with a piece of lava cake.

The scene cuts to a parking lot fronting a Spanish mission style building. Palm trees line its facade and a Mexican flag flies from a tall pole. Lincoln parks, throws open the door, and gets out, the car's frame lifting several feet with a sigh of relief. He slams the door, turns, and starts waddling toward the camera. He's even fatter standing up, so wide he takes up most of the screen, and the closer he gets, the heavier his breathing. "If there's one thing I love to do," he says, "it's eat, and when I'm in the mood to chow down, nothing hits the spot like authentic Mexican. This is _El Restaurante Mexicano."_

A dining room crowded with people and adorned with festive Mexican decorations. A close up of a white woman sitting at a table. She waves her hand. "The tacos are to _die_ for."

"Founded in 2017 by a grad student from El Paso with a dream, _El Restaurante Mexicano_ has been serving it up old school ever since."

A petite Hispanic woman in a purple T-shirt, black hair in a ponytail bustles around an industrial kitchen like a chicken with its head cut off while a chef sauteed onions on a fiery stove. The woman grabs a plate of food, runs it to a window, and rings a bell. "Order up!"

"Ronnie Anne Santiago's been cooking since she was a little girl, and all of her recipes come straight from south of the border. Her specialty is chicken gorditas made with a special blend of spices and slow roasted for seventeen hours."

Lincoln sits at a table across from an old man, Lincoln's stomach pushing against the edge like a sausage in a casing. "This is an eating experience," the old man declares. "Nothing like it in all of Texas."

"What's your favorite thing on the menu?" Lincoln asks.

"Oh, the chicken gorditas. Hands down."

Lincoln stares at the old man's plate and licks his lips. "What's that?"

"Spicy cheese and bean burrito."

"It looks good."

"It is good."

Lincoln looks at him. "Can I have it?"

"Ronnie Anne was going to school to become a civil rights lawyer when she took a detour into Flavortown."

Ronnie Anne stands at the stove with her hands behind her back and a proud smile on her face. Linc stands nearby, the remains of the old man's burrito smeared across his mouth. "I saw the for sale ad in the paper and, I don't know, something came over me, so I bought it."

"Most people's impulse buys are a little smaller," Lincoln says.

She shrugs. "I'm not most people."

Lincoln runs his eyes slowly up and down her body. "No you're not," he says huskily.

Her smile falters.

The scene cuts to her bending over a giant pot and adding powdered spices from a clear plastic container. Lincoln looks on, dividing his attention between her butt and the stove. "First, a little Mexican all purpose spice," she says.

"What's in it?" he asks.

"I can't tell you that," she laughs, "it's a secret."

Lincoln looks at the camera. "It's a secret," he says.

Next, she adds water, shredded chicken, and peppercorns. Lincoln stands over her shoulder, his body uncomfortably close to hers. She tenses but doesn't say anything. "This is how it starts," Lincoln comments.

"This is how it starts," she confirmed. "Then it's slow roasted for a total of seventeen hours."

He leans in and takes a big whiff of her hair. "I have two weaknesses," he says, "Mexican food and Mexican women."

She flashes a strained smile.

Cut to Lincoln standing at a metal prep table. A plate bearing two chicken gorditas drenched in ranch sauce sits before him. Ronnie Anne stands anxiously to one side as though her entire life depends on him liking her food. He picks one up and grins. "Come to papi."

He takes a giant bite, flashes of chicken and saggy bits of tortilla visible in his working maw. Drool and ranch sauce course down his chins and his lips smack wetly together to produce a stomach turning squelch not unlike someone running in mud. He moans in delight and shoves the rest into his mouth, then slowly, suggestively, sucks each one of his fingers clean. He turns to Ronnie Anne and she goes rigid in anticipation of his review. "That's out of bounds," he says, and a look of relief washes across her face.

"Okay...and cut."

The camera keeps rolling. Ronnie Anne stands with her back to it and her gaze shamefully downcast. "Alright, I did my part and made your trash food look good...now do yours."

Sighing in resignation, Ronnie Anne crosses her arms over her chest and lifts her shirt, baring her naked back, shoulder blades flexing her her bronze skin. Lincoln's eyes widen and begins to salivate like a dog. He rubs his hands crisply together. "Now I get to play with your titties."

He grabs her breasts and clumsily fondles them while Ronnie Anne squeezes her eyes closed and winces. Her cheeks blush with humiliation and a single tear slides down her face.

* * *

Lincoln stands at his car, panting for breath. "Are you sure you wanna do this, Linc?" someone asks off camera, "you _did_ just eat three Big Macs on the way over."

"Fuck...you…" he gasps. "One of my favorite foods," he begins, "is chili , and I love my chili spicy. If you're in Tulsa, Oklahoma, the spiciest chilli can be found at The Home Team Grill on Western Ave."

Another dining room packed with people. Sports decals, framed jerseys, and signed photos of football, basketball, and soccer players dot the wood paneled walls. Lincoln bends over a table and sucks great gulps of air while the patrons look on in either concern or bemusement. "How's...how's the food here?" he asks.

A woman with short blonde hair beams. "It's really good. I like the -"

"Nevermind, how's the chilli?"

She misses a beat. "Excellent."

Voiceover: "Lynn Jr. opened The Home Team Grill with her dad in 2014. Both are sports fanatics and wanted to share their love of balls with the Tulsa area while hitting home runs with classic favorites like fried chicken, cheeseburgers, and, of course, spicy chilli."

Lynn, clad in black pants, a black T-shirt, and a black visor, stands at a prep table with her hands behind her back. Linc stands next to her. His shirt is crusted with food stains and the remnants of his previous meal are stuck to his lips. His face is red, slick, and bloated. "What makes your chili so spicy?" he asks.

"Our secret sauce," Lynn says with a sly inflection. "It contains a mix of jalapenos, habaneros, and ghost peppers. It's so spicy the city almost outlawed it."

"Gangsta," Lincoln says appreciatively.

"We only use a little bit," Lynn assures him, "anymore and someone might die." She laughs.

Looking at the camera, Linc arches his brow. "We'll see about that."

Cut to Linc standing over a bowl of chili. He holds a glass bottle marked SAUCE, opens the lid, and sniffs it. "Holy moly," he says, "that's strong."

Lynn preens. "Told ya."

"But so is my stomach."

With that, he upends the bottle and vigorously splatters its contents on his chili. Lynn's smile fades. "Hey, wait."

He keeps going.

"Dude, wait, no," Lynn cries and grabs his arm, "that shit's really hot, I'm not playing. It'll mess you up."

Linc shoves her away, and she falls to the floor in a swish of ponytail. "Fuck you, bitch." He slams the bottle down, picks up the bowl, and snatches a spoon from the table. "I like my chili spicy."

He digs the spoon in and raises it to his lips. The camera zooms in as he slurps it into his mouth. On the floor, Lynn looks away like a woman from a catastrophe waiting to happen.

For a moment, nothing happens, then Linc's face turns a deep shade of red and snot begins to ooze from his nostrils. The bowl falls from his hands and clatters to the table, then slips and explodes on the floor. Gripping the edge, he bows his head and starts to pant. The camera zooms in on his quivering chins and snotty mustache. Tears well in his eyes and he shakes his head from side to side as if in denial. Someone laughs off camera, and Linc grates. "Don't just stand there, do something!"

Lynn rushes over with a plastic pitcher filled with thick white cream. "Here," she says, "it's buttermilk."

Linc yanks it away, throws his head back, and pours it down his throat, some spilling onto his shirt and sluicing through the folds of his neck fat. He gargles and coughs, spraying the lens with buttermilk. It slathers his mouth and nostrils, drips soaking into the fabric covering his heaving man boobs. He looks at Lynn, who smiles sheepishly. "This is _your_ fault," he charges. He slams the pitcher to the floor and Lynn jumps. "You made me look a fool on national TV." He wheels around and waddles to the batwing doors. "No one eat here!" he yells at the top of his lungs, "this places SUCKS."

Cut to Linc sitting in his car, his massive stomach pressed tight against the wheel. "I got to touch a hot Mexigurl's tits then almost died at Lynn Jr.'s death trap of a restaurant. All in all a good day. Join us next time here on _Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives_ where I'll be visiting Luan's Comedy Club in Santa Monica and Leni's in Chicago. Hope to see you there."

He unwraps a McDonald's cheeseburger and shoves it into his mouth as he drives off into the sunset.


	54. Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives S1E02

**RandomReviewerReturns: Lol, that made me laugh. Should rename him Lincoln Guyden. That sounds like an anime fighting game, though.**

 **DreadedCandiru2: I have no real problem with guy, but come on, look at him. The jokes write themselves.**

Lincoln Loud sits with his stomach wedged against the wheel of a 1960s model convertible. He wears a red American Eagle T-shirt, cargo shorts, and flip flops. His white hair is spiked, his eyes covered by dark sunglasses, and crumbs spackle the goatee growing from his four flabby chins. A half eaten candy bar rests in the valley between his quivering man boobs and his sweat slicked face glistens in the summer sun. "This is Lincoln Loud," he says, "rolling out, looking for Americans greatest diners, drive-ins, and dives."

Annoying music plays over a series of clips. Lincoln gnawing on a steak, his mouth coated in A1; Lincoln throwing up a faux gang sign and calling someone's nachos "gangster"; Lincoln holding his fore and middle fingers to his lips in a V and flicking his tongue at a little girl in pigtails.

The scene cuts to a beach; people swim, surf, and stroll the sandy shore. A long pier juts out into the water, a ferris wheel spinning ever round, and colorful shops line a boardwalk where street performers ply their trade - one jungles swords, another plays his guitar for money, and another still pulls a rabbit from an overturned snapback.

In a parking lot dotted with palm trees, Lincoln waddles toward the camera, lumbering side to side like a penguin with a club foot. His shirt doesn't entirely cover his stomach, and a pale swath of hairy blubber hangs over his waistband. "Located in western Los Angeles County, Santa Monica is known for its laid back surf culture and hot babes. It's got everything. Food trucks. Head shops." He slaps his hand against his palm for emphasis. "And...comedy?" He waggles his brows exaggeratedly. "This is Luan's Comedy Club."

A sleak, modern building with a black awning, brick patio, and wrought iron railings sits among a cluster of palm trees, the sandy beach and vast, blue Pacific in the background. Inside, people in light, summary clothes eat at tables and booths while a clown rides a unicycle on a large stage. Lincoln sits across from a black woman in a black blazer. "This place keep me rollin'," she says and laughs.

Lincoln stares steadily at her hamburger and fries.

Voiceover: "Opened in 2010 by a perennial jokester with a love for pranks -"

Luan stands in the kitchen with her arms crossed and a simper on her face.

" - Luan's Comedy Club delivers in both laughs... _and_ flavor."

Lincoln fights his way through the door into the kitchen and stumbles. He flashes a self-satisfied little smile and walks over to Luan, who holds out her hand. He takes it, then wrenches his arm violently back. "Ow, goddamn!"

A joybuzzer is visible in Luan's palm.

Spinning around, Lincoln shakes like he just touched something hot, then bends over a metal prep table. Luan flutters her hands to her mouth in shock, then jumps when Lincoln yells over his shoulder. "Stupid bitch!"

He pants heavily...then pales and clutches his chest. "You okay, Linc?" the cameraman asks.

Lincoln's head twitches from side to side. He's flushed, sweating, and sallow.

Cut to Lincoln being carried out the front door and down the steps on a stretcher by a team of paramedics, an oxygen mask covering his mouth and nose. Luan rushes alongside, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry, I'm so, so, so sorry."

They shove Lincoln into the back of a waiting ambulance and it pulls away, sirens blaring. Luan looks after it with a desolate expression on her face, then hangs her head and breaks down crying.

A montage of Lincoln in the hospital plays. Him sitting up in bed; him talking to a doctor in a lab coat; him being wheeled down a corridor and looking scared; him smacking a nurse's ass. "It was a long, hard road to recovery," he intones, "but it takes a lot to put me down."

Lincoln, as fat as ever in jeans and a puffy coat, hobbles along a sidewalk flanking a city street crammed with taxi cabs. The sky is ashen, the day is overcast, and the trees are bare. "Luan's Comedy Club sucks and if you eat there, you're automatically gay," he pants. "Thanks to her, my doctor won't let me go to Flavortown anymore and I have to settle for crap -"

He stops at a corner shop with big front windows and a pink awning.

" - Like Leni's Juice Bar."

The scene cuts to a wide dining room with stylish wood floors, stools, and computer kiosks. A pretty blonde woman with her hair in a ponytail and glasses on her face stands behind a counter with her hands behind her back and beams at an old man. "Totes enjoy your smoothie."

"Opening its doors in September 2013, Leni's Juice Bar has quickly gained itself a reputation as Chicago's go-to for smoothies and...I don't know, other healthy crap I don't care about."

Lincoln and Leni stand in an industrial kitchen, a blender on a prep table between them. Lincoln rolls his eyes and heaves a deep sigh of frustration. "So, what's your best smoothie?" he mumbles.

"Well," Leni pipes, seeming to not notice how apathetic her guest is, "it's a kale and spinach blend made specially by me." She widens her smile like a small dog expecting praise.

Lincoln sneers. "Really?"

She nods deeply. "Yep. You're totes gonna love it."

Turning her back to the camera, she leans over the prep table and starts adding ingredients; the hem of her black skirt pulls up her shapely legs, and Lincoln cranes to one side for a better look. "First we, like, add the kale," Leni explains in a peppy tone, "then the spinach, then the wheatgrass."

A dark shadow flickers across Lincoln's face. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up."

Leni, hitherto on her tippy toes, rocks back on her heels, looks up at him with big, doe-like eyes, and cocks her head quizzically.

"I'll drink kale paste and spinach water, but I fucking hate wheatgrass."

Leni blinks. "But it's good for - "

"I'm not playing," Lincoln says and throws up one hand, "fuck wheatgrass. Wheatgrass can suck the shit out my asshole. Put it in there and I swear to God, I'm turning around and leaving."

Leni's jaw drops at the invective in his tone. "Okay, okay," she says and holds up her hands, palms facing out, "no wheatgrass."

Turning to the camera, Lincoln gives a curt nod, then shoves his middle finger to the lens, "That's right, fuck you, wheatgrass."

While Leni holds down the top of the working blender, Lincoln goes back to openly staring at her ass, one hand swiping unconsciously across his lips. He restlessly shifts his weight from side to side and whines deep in the back of his throat. Finally, he breaks, reaches out, and squeezes one cheek in his hand. Leni jumps with a tiny _eek_ of surprise, then whips Lincoln a confused look. "Uh, Lincy? Why are you touching my butt?"

Lincoln cracks a scummy half-grin. "Because it's a nice butt."

A blush touches Leni's cheek and she turns her head demurely away. "Thank you."

Lincoln pants more heavily as he slips his hand under her skirt. Leni throws her head back and lets out a long, moaning purr. Lincoln looks at the camera, his mouth a perfect, dumbfounded O. "She likes it," he whispers, stunned, "she actually likes it."

It's clear from his tone that no woman has ever willingly let him touch her.

Without being paid first.

Leni's hands disappear beneath the hem of her skirt, then, wiggling her hips, she pulls her panties to her knees. Lincoln's face flushes bright red and he looks like he's about to have another heart attack; Leni braces her hands against the edge of the table and bends over. Lincoln shivers when his fingers touch her hot, silky lips, then he begins to sweat profusely as he slides them into her. She moans and hangs her head, a spill of hair veiling her eyes. Lincoln rasps for air and begins to glide his fingers back and forth with a wet squishing sound. Leni grinds her hips back and forth, going faster and faster until she can't take anymore. "Fuck me," she whispers.

Ripping his hand away, Lincoln fumbles with his belt, and his jeans drop to his ankles. His furry ass is white, flabby, and pock marked with deep dimples and creases. Leni plants her elbows on the table and looks back as Lincoln hikes her skirt up over her hips to reveal her glistening pink center. When she sees his dick, her brow shoots up. "Wow, I've never seen one that small."

"It gets bigger," Lincoln assures her.

"I hope so."

Lincoln takes his dick in his hand, lifts his stomach fat with the other, and guides himself to her opening. He thrusts, and Leni frowns. "Like...are you in?"

"Deep in, baby," Lincoln trembles.

He thrusts again, and Leni's frown deepens. This continues for several more seconds before she glares at him. "Lincy."

Lincoln goes faster.

"Lincy." Sharp. Firm.

He looks at her, and she lowers her brow dangerously. "Go back to using your fingers."

For a moment, Lincoln doesn't move, then with a sigh of resignation, he pulls his pants up and fingers her again. Before long, she cums with a cry and grinds his hand as her orgasm spreads through her. When she's finished, she pulls her underwear up, and Lincoln's face pinches. "Okay," she says, "back to making the smoothie."

"What about me?" Lincoln asks.

"What about you?" Leni asks over her shoulder.

"I wanna get off too."

Leni touches her index finger to her chin. "Get off of what?"

Lincoln turns bright red and starts to shake. In a flash, he spins and sweeps the blender off the table; it crashes to the floor and explodes, spraying juice and broken glass everywhere. "Fuck you, blonde bitch!" he yells. He slams through the doors into the dining room, and everyone looks at him.

Suddenly, he goes pale, and his hand goes to his chest. Sweat springs to his brow and his legs wobble unsteadily. "Oh no," he hisses, "not again."

The scene cuts to Lincoln on a stretcher, six paramedics carrying him to an ambulance with its back doors standing open. "Luan's fucking...stupid and so is this place," Lincoln says woozily, "fuck juice and wheatgrass, I'm going back to Flavortown"

They load him into the ambulance.

"...on the next episode of _Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives_."

They shut the doors, and the ambulance takes off while Lincoln's theme music plays.

END.


End file.
